


More Than Enough

by Sam_Eller



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Captured, Hurt Dean, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Protective Dean, Revenge, Stanford Era, Worried Dean, Worried Sam, sam and dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Eller/pseuds/Sam_Eller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While away at school, Sam receives Dean's amulet in an unmarked package. Could it be a simple mistake? Or is there something much more sinister at play?  Sam and Dean end up captured by a hunter desperate for revenge. Hurt/Worried/Sam and Hurt/Protective/Dean. Pre-Series. Stanford-era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I trudged up the steps towards my apartment, sighing tiredly as I ran a hand through my tangled mess of hair. As I pushed my bangs out of my eyes, I thought distractedly that I could really use a haircut...and then realized I probably couldn't afford one.

Too bad Dean wasn't here, he always managed to do a pretty good job with a pair of clippers. No matter how often he picked on me for liking it long, or how regularly Dad would suggest I shave it off, Dean would always cut it to just the right length.

I felt my chest ache as I was reminded of my older brother, and wondered if I would ever stop missing him.

I seriously doubted it.

Approaching the door to my student housing, I rolled my eyes at the noise I could hear coming from inside. Jackson had warned me that he was having a party, hence the reason I had stayed at the library until closing; but there was nowhere else to go at this time of night and I was exhausted, so I opened the door and walked inside.

I couldn't help but cringe at the number of people crammed into the small space. It was frustratingly difficult to manoeuvre my way to my bedroom.

I slid into my tiny room, thankful that it had managed to stay off limits. I shut the door behind me, wishing that it did more to muffle the blasting music. I dropped my books on the desk in the corner and collapsed onto my small single bed, cursing my height as my feet hung off the edge. I briefly considered going to the kitchen to grab some food, I hadn't had the time or money to eat today and I knew that the fridge would likely be cleared out by morning, but I was far too tired and irritated to try and wade my way back through all those people. In an attempt to ignore the booming music and constant laughter, I turned over on my side, curling up and throwing an arm over my head.

Instead of pillow, I felt the crinkle of paper beneath me. I huffed in annoyance, and pulled the object out, not realizing until it was in my hands that it wasn't study notes, but an envelope. I squinted at the package, confused by the absence of any type of marking. There was no stamp, no names, and no addresses, it was completely blank.

I sat up in bed, my curiosity aroused as I ripped the envelope open. I slid long fingers inside, expecting to find a letter, but feeling string instead.

I pulled the object out, recognizing it immediately. An involuntary gasp left my lips, the empty envelope dropping to the floor as I stared wide-eyed at the necklace tangled in my grip.

The amulet.

Dean's amulet.

My hands shook as I turned it over, rubbing my thumb over the face of the charm.

My brother wouldn't return this...would he?

I knew he had been sort of pissed at me when I left for school six months ago, but I had called him since being here, several times actually, and he hadn't seemed angry or bitter.

We had spoken just a couple weeks ago. I talked about school, he talked about hunting; the conversation had gone well... I thought.

Had I done something, besides ditching him, to make him angry?

Had I insulted him in some way?

My mind raced with unanswered questions as I climbed to my feet, rapidly making my way back into the cramped living area and searching for my roommate.

"Jackson!" I hollered, once I spotted him in our pathetically small kitchen.

He looked up as I pushed my way next to him.

"Oh hey Sam." He greeted.

"There was an envelope in my room-

"Oh good you got that. I didn't want to go snooping in your bedroom or anything, but I thought it'd be best to leave it in there rather than risk it getting lost out here." He explained, nodding towards the rowdy group of college kids utilizing our kitchen table as a beer-pong surface.

"Did you see who dropped it off?" I questioned urgently, not caring that Jackson had gone in my bedroom, growing up in motels had made me fairly accustomed to a lack of privacy.

"Nah sorry man. It was just sitting by the front door when I got in from class." He explained with a shrug.

I frowned, my mind racing for answers.

"Why? What was in it?" Jackson asked curiously, as he mixed himself another drink.

"Something that belongs to my brother." I muttered, distracted by the questions bombarding my brain.

"Hey Sammy."

My agitation level instantly rose at the appearance of Mike. Only one person was allowed to call me that, and it sure as hell wasn't him.

He was Jackson's best friend...and a total ass. Always the first one to show up for the party, the last to leave, and he usually ended up puking on something. He was also constantly getting into fights, though, even wasted, he managed to win every single one. Mike was really into boxing and if his size wasn't proof of that, his reflexes were. The guy could get the drop on someone even when he was drowning in alcohol. I would be lying if I said I didn't find it a little impressive.

"It's Sam." I bit out, having no patience for Mike's obnoxious behaviour.

"They finally boot you outta the library?" He slurred, his glazed eyes looking straight into mine, he was one of the few students tall enough to actually do that.

"You going to have a drink? Or are you till a prude?"

I rolled my eyes, turning to leave, twisting back around when I felt the amulet yanked from my grip.

"Hey!" I shouted, glaring at the drunken student.

"This is one ugly necklace Sammy." Mike remarked as he scrutinized the charm.

"Give it back man, I'm not joking around." I ordered, my tone deep and serious as I glowered at the asshole holding my brother's gift.

"I'll make you a deal, you have one drink and I'll return your precious jewelry."

I had it. My patience diminished.

Grabbing Mike's wrist, I gave it a quick, but aggressive twist; not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to make a point.

He yelped out and dropped the amulet, which I caught with my other hand the same time I released my grip on the young man.

I barely had time to pocket my brother's possession before I was knocked off balance by a violent blow to my face.

I stumbled back a few steps, struggling to stay on my feet as my head pounded.

"What the hell Mike!"

"He grabbed me."

"Yeah that's cause you took his stuff man! You can't just go around decking people!"

"That's what Chuck Norris would do!"

"Mike, for the last damn time, you are not Chuck Norris. We go over this every time you drink."

I vaguely registered the conversation between Jackson and his friend, my skull aching as I held a hand over my left eye, the area that had absorbed the majority of the blow.

"You alright Sam?"

I tried to focus on my roommate as his face swam into view.

"I'm fine." I replied.

"Sorry about Mike, you know how he gets after he's had a few too many."

I made to nod, but thought better of it, managing a fake partial smile instead.

"It's fine." I repeated, turning to make my way out of the apartment, grabbing the sweater that was hanging by the door and ignoring the eyes I could feel on my back as I made my exit.

I took a deep breath of the cool night air, slipping the sweatshirt over my head. It was Dean's hoodie, it had been in my duffel when I left for Stanford. It was warm and it smelled of cheap after shave, hair gel, and m&m's...altogether it just smelled like Dean.

I smirked, knowing that if my brother knew how often I wore his sweater for comfort, regardless of the temperature outside, he would never let me live it down.

Dean.

God I missed him.

As my thoughts went to my brother and I inhaled the scent of home, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my cell phone. It was old, crappy, and to be honest I couldn't really afford the phone plan, but right now it was all I needed.

I scanned through my contacts, stopping at "Dee" and pressing talk.

Holding the phone to my ear I listened to it ring and ring and ring.

It unnerved me that my brother didn't answer, he almost always answered; often when I called he would pick up on the first ring.

I tried again, and then three times after that, each ring adding to my anxiety.

"Come on Dean." I whispered when I heard his voicemail once more.

I went to call again, but this time, as I scrolled through my contacts I stopped right before I reached my brother's name.

Dad.

I paused, staring at the highlighted word. It had been so long since I had spoken my father, I wasn't even sure that the number I had was accurate.

Before I could give it anymore thought, I pressed the green button, bringing the phone back up to my ear as I paced in circles around the parking lot.

"Winchester."

The answer on the third ring startled me, the gruff tone sounding both strange and familiar.

"Hey..uuh...it's Sam." I stuttered out, unprepared for this conversation.

"What do you need?" The older hunter asked, all business.

"Nothing. I was just trying to contact Dean. He's not answering his phone. I was wondering if you know where he's at?" I asked.

"What's going on Sam?"

I may have been mistaken, but I thought for a moment I sensed a degree of concern.

"Nothing. I just...I need to talk to Dean. Where is he?" I questioned, being sure to keep any sense of urgency from my tone.

"He's in the hospital."

Ice cold fear shot up my spine, my body physically tensing at the news as I immediately began walking in the direction of the bus station.

It was four blocks away, and I didn't even know what bus I would need to get on, but it didn't matter.

I was going to see my brother.

"Is he okay?" All attempts to hide my worry thrown out the window.

"He's fine Sam." John declared.

"What happened?"

"I'm not really sure."

My father's reply took me by surprise. It was rare that John Winchester did not have the answer. It was even rarer for him to admit to not having the answer.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I regretted the harsh sound of the question, but I was too terrified to care.

"He was returning to the motel, and he got hit over the head when he was getting out of the car. He woke up a few hours ago chained up in a warehouse."

"How'd you-

"I tracked his phone. Whatever took him didn't know that somebody was going to come looking."

I swallowed, trying to stop myself from imagining what could have happened if Dad hadn't been around. If Dean had been on his own and no one had come looking.

"You don't know what it was?"

"No, but it didn't want to kill him."

The way my father faded out told me that there was more, something he wasn't telling me.

"What is it Dad?" I questioned impatiently.

"It might have been a trap."

I froze for a moment before forcing my feet to continue.

"Why would you think that?"

"It seemed like a set up. I think Dean was being used as bait."

"Then why didn't the thing stick around?" I enquired in confusion.

"I don't know Sam. Maybe whatever it was didn't expect your brother would be found so soon." Dad sighed in slight exasperation. He had never been a fan of my constant questioning.

"Something might have taken him to get to me." He mused.

"Or me." I added, making connections.

"What do you mean?" The question was loud and demanding, like most of the enquiries John Winchester posed.

"You remember that amulet I gave to Dean?" I asked, knowing that even my dad couldn't miss noticing his eldest had been wearing the charm around his neck every day for the past decade.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"I found it in a package left on my doorstep this evening." I explained.

"And you are just telling me this now? The anger was evident and it made me clench my jaw in frustration.

"I didn't know what to think. For all I knew Dean put it there." I stated defensively.

Silence hung in the air for a moment as I proceeded to make my way to the bus station.

"Was there a note? Anything else in the package?" The older hunter questioned steadily.

"Nope, nothing. No stamps or mailing address. Didn't even have my name on it."

Another period of silence, as my destination came into view.

"What are you thinking Dad?"

"I think I don't know what the hell is going on. And until I do, you best keep an eye out. Be careful, watch your back. Don't take any risks. You hear me?"

I rolled my eyes at the common-sense orders.

"Yes sir." I replied, reluctantly telling my father the words I knew he needed to hear.

"Can I talk to Dean?" I asked.

"I'm not with him. I'm checking up on some leads."

I physically bit my tongue to stop the derogatory comment I desired to make, because of course Dean was laid up in the hospital and John Winchester was following leads. With some effort, I managed to keep the thought to myself, because I hadn't spoken to my father for nearly half a year, and I wasn't going to waste our first conversation picking a fight.

"Where is he? What state? Which hospital?" I asked, as I entered the bus station, which was mostly empty due to the late hour.

"Sam, your brother is fine. He got a knock to the head. He's only being kept for observation, they'll probably release him tomorrow." My dad informed me, knowing full well what my intentions were.

"Dad, where is he?" I questioned, tone stern, as to match the older hunter's.

"Sam just-

"Where?" I ground out.

"Northwest Hospital & Medical Center in Seattle, Washington." My father answered with a sigh.

I nodded, immediately scanning the arrival and departure schedule, seeing a bus to Seattle leaving in half an hour, driving through the night.

"I've got to go Dad." I said, trying to recall how much money I had left in my bank account.

"Take care Sam. Tell your brother that I'll call him in a couple days." The older man said in a voice that almost sounded soft.

"Yes sir." I replied instinctively.

Once I heard the dial tone I closed my cell, slipping it back into my pocket and pulling out my wallet.

It cost me almost every penny I possessed to purchase a one-way bus ticked to Seattle. I didn't even think about how much I was spending, I didn't care that I wouldn't have any money for clothes, groceries, or a haircut. I was just glad that Dean was in a hospital within a significant city, as opposed to some small town that would be impossible to get to.

The bus actually made pretty good time, driving overnight eliminated any chance of getting caught in traffic. Ten hours later, I arrived in Seattle. It was seven in the morning and I had been too worried to get any sleep on the drive up. I was tired and starving, but all I could think about was getting to my brother.

I managed to hitch a ride to the hospital, which turned out not to be far. Once I arrived I began searching the building for my brother. It turns out it is difficult to find someone when you don't know what last name they put on their fake insurance. Eventually I was directed to a room containing a Dean Lambton with a head wound, a grade three concussion to be exact. The doc I talked to told me my brother would be okay, he was only being kept for observation, and would be released this afternoon, shortly after some more tests.

That information was all well and fine, but the anxiety in my gut didn't ease until I found the room and looked in to see my older brother asleep in the bed.

I walked closer, relief flowing through me as I saw with my very own eyes that Dean was alright. He looked to be peacefully asleep, no visible damage, though I had been told that the blow came to the back of his head.

I smirked at the sight of the line of drool dripping from the corner of the bad-ass hunter's mouth.

I stared at my brother until I was completely satisfied that he was alright. I was content with the lack of I.V's (always a good sign), the healthy pallor of his skin, and the steady sound of the heart monitor.

I sighed in relief, quietly pulling a chair up to the side of the bed and dropping into it.

"Don't scare me like that man." I whispered, gently taking my brother's hand in mine.

The relief of finding Dean and realizing that he was alright diminished the fear and anxiety that I had been running off of. Now that those feelings were gone, I felt drained, my mind and body exhausted from a complete lack of sleep.

I must have laid my head down at one point, because I came to with the feel of fingers combing through my shaggy hair. I knew that touch immediately and lifted my head.

"Dean?" My voice raspy with sleep as I said my brother's name.

"Hey Sammy."

The smile that spread across the man's face made every penny and sleepless moment worth it.

"You really need a haircut kiddo." Dean remarked, as he combed my long unruly bangs off the side of my face, his hand pausing and eyes going wide.

"What the hell?"

I squinted at him in confusion as my brother's stared at my face, and then I remembered the tight, soar feeling around my eye. I had forgotten about getting punched, the pain in my face had been instantly replaced by my concern for the man sitting in the hospital bed.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing Dean, don't worry about it." I insisted, swatting my brother's hand off my face.

"It's not nothing, your eye is black and swollen Sam. Who did that to you?" Dean barked, his tone furious as he sat up even straighter.

I smirked, because there was no doubt in my mind that if I told him, my big brother would hunt Mike down and teach him one hell of a lesson.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, his irritation clear.

"You are. Just relax man. It's alright, it was just some stupid college kid." I confessed, seeing my brother relax minimally at the new information.

"A college dork got the drop on you? Dude you have gotten soft." Dean snorted in amusement.

"Well at least I didn't end up unconscious in a warehouse. What the hell Dean?" I asked, genuine concern coming out in my attempt at a joke.

"Beats me man, but don't worry. Dad and I will figure it out." My brother declared, easing my fears the way he always had, by exhibiting unwavering confidence.

"Oh uh that reminds me." I stuttered out, going to reach in my pocket and just now realizing that I was still holding onto one of Dean's hands.

I awkwardly released it, avoiding my brother's eyes out of embarrassment, as I pulled out the amulet.

"Here umm...I don't know if you still want this...but..." I faded off, unsure of what to say as I held the necklace out to him.

Dean smiled, as he reached forward and grabbed it, sliding his thumb over the ugly little charm, the same way I had been doing for the ten hours I sat on the bus.

"Thanks man. I was looking for this when I woke up. How'd you get it?" Dean asked, slipping the amulet over his head, leaving it to rest right where it had always belonged.

"It was on my doorstep." I replied with a shrug, trying not to display how pathetically relieved I was that my brother sill wanted to wear the gift I had given to him so many years ago.

"That's weird." Dean declared.

I nodded in agreement, but didn't add anything, leaving that conversation for another time.

"So how'd you get here?" My brother questioned casually.

"Bus." I answered, not missing the sympathetic wince that crossed Dean's face.

"From Cali? That would've sucked ass."

I shrugged, because I would have walked if I had to.

"When you heading back?" Dean asked, a little softer this time.

"Not really sure... I'm sort of out of cash so...I thought, I mean if you're up to it-

"Road trip? Hell ya little brother."

My smile reflected Dean's as I revealed in this simple moment.

God I missed my big brother.

"I've got first shift." I declared, no intention of letting Dean drive so soon after his head injury.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't bother arguing.

"Bitch." Dean remarked.

"Jerk." I replied, smile wide as I stared up at my older brother.

I didn't know who was after my family.

I didn't know what I was going to do about my lack of cash.

I didn't know how I was going to be able to leave my brother to return to school.

But I did know that Dean was here, he was alright, and he still loved me.

And that was more than enough.


	2. Chapter 2

From the second I woke up and saw that shaggy head resting on the bed against my thigh, everything felt right again.

It didn't matter that I had a killer headache, or that apparently someone seemed to have it in for me.

What mattered was that my little brother was here.

Although, I was concerned as hell as to how he ended up with my amulet. My lack of knowledge about the entire situation did not sit well with me.

I would work to solve that mystery later, after I spent some time with my kid brother. Once Sam was settled back at school I would call Dad up and we would put our heads together and try to figure out what or who was messing with us.

But for now I was going to go on a road trip.

I looked over at Sam where he stood near the entrance to the room, he was signing the out-patient forms needed before we could blow this joint.

The kid looked tired, bags shadowed his eyes as he read the paperwork in his hands. I swear the dork was the only one who ever actually read through all that shit. No doubt carefully examining every instruction required to mother-hen the life out of me.

Sam's hair was long, longer than normal. It hung down in front of his eyes, forcing him to constantly brush it away from his face. I knew how he hated that and wondered why the kid hadn't had it trimmed yet.

The fact that my little brother was wearing my sweater, did not escape me. I had smiled like an idiot when I noticed this morning. I wasn't going to lie, it felt real good to know that maybe Sam missed me at least a fraction as much as I missed him.

I sat at the edge of the bed, sliding my shoes on my feet. Sam had retrieved my duffel from the Impala and brought it in so that I could put on some real clothes and wouldn't have to walk out of the hospital wearing a damn gown.

Once the papers were signed, Sam nodded his thanks to the doc and walked back towards me.

"You ready to go?" He asked as he watch me climb to my feet.

"Yup, I'm good." I answered, shrugging off the steadying touch I felt on my upper arm.

I wasn't a freaking china doll.

Sam handed me my jacket and grabbed my bag.

"Dude I can carry my own stuff." I argued, reaching out for my duffel.

"Never said you couldn't." My brother replied, but moved ahead of me, ignoring my reach.

I huffed and let my arm drop, not having the energy or the will to try and fight for my bag with the giant buffoon.

"Where's your stuff?" I asked as Sam headed for the door.

My little brother shrugged, his broad shoulder dropping as he answered me.

"Didn't bring anything."

My eyebrows rose at the answer, I guess maybe the kid hadn't planned on staying long.

"Didn't you bring a coat?" I questioned, glancing around the room as Sam stepped into the hall.

"No." Sam stated, as he wrapped long fingers above my elbow and gently tugged me out of the room.

"You didn't think that it might be colder in Seattle than it is in California?" I pointed out, because it was unlike Sam not to be prepared, not to think things through...or over-think things through.

"It's not that cold." My brother muttered as we made out way out of the hospital.

In absolute contradiction to Sam's statement, the chilled air bit through my jeans, and my breath was visible as it left my mouth.

"Not that cold, really? It's January in Washington." I reminded the stubborn brat as he lead the way to the Impala.

Sam gave no response, tossing my duffel into the backseat before moving up and opening the passenger door.

"Seriously?" I said, staring at my brother in exasperation.

"You're not driving. You have a concussion." He explained.

"I _had_ a concussion and you look pretty wiped out."

"You're not driving."

"Yeah I got that, but I don't see why I can't open my own door."

"Just get in." Sam sighed, twitching his head to the right as he waited.

"You're a moron." I insulted, reluctantly taking a seat.

Sam simply shook his head, a small smile on his face as he walked around to the driver's side. He swiped his hair out of his eyes and dropped in behind the wheel, pushing the keys into the ignition and starting my baby up.

I immediately turned the heat on, angling the vents in my kid brother's direction, because he could lie to the both of us all day long, but that wasn't going to change the fact that there was a definite chill in the air.

"If you put a single-

"Scratch on her you'll kill me, yeah I know." Sam finished with a roll of his eyes as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

"Just making sure you haven't forgotten."

"You know what other rule I haven't forgotten?" My brother questioned, a cheeky smile on his face.

I gave the kid a curious look, not sure where he was going until I saw his hand extending towards the radio.

"Oh don't you dare." I stated, attempting to intercept his long reach.

Sam swatted my hand away as he turned the radio on and immediately started to scan for stations, stopping on a country one.

"This isn't funny!" I shouted over the noise.

"I'm sorry, what was that Dean? Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole." My brother responded with a wide satisfied grin stretched across his face.

"Yeah, but country? You're violating my baby!" I declared in frustration.

Sam's enjoyment escalated as he turned the volume up higher and hummed along to a song I'm pretty sure the kid didn't even know.

While I was truly outraged with the horrible sounds that were filling my girl, I had no objection to the joy written all over my baby brother's expression.

I sulked for show, but inside I was just happy to see Sammy enjoying himself.

It didn't escape me that the volume of that crap music was reduced dramatically when I rested my head against the window. I appreciated the quiet, the pounding in my head easing off as I leaned it into the cool glass.

"You want some advil or something?" The soft question had me turning towards my brother.

"Nah, I'm good."

Sam sent me a disbelieving glance, but didn't argue.

"Want to stretch out in the back? Get some shuteye?"

I smirked at the question, recalling the numerous times I had asked my little brother that very same thing; I returned with the answer that he always gave me.

"No, I'm fine."

"Concussion, Dean." He reminded me, as though I had forgotten.

"Yesterday, Sam." I retorted.

He sent me a bitch face.

I barked out a laugh, because, shockingly enough, I had missed that irritated expression.

"It's not funny." Sam bit out, turning his gaze to the road.

"Well it's hardly tragic." I announced, because it was a concussion, and when it came to hunter injuries, a concussion wasn't a big deal...unless you are Sam.

"You got knocked out and kidnapped. It's not funny." My brother protested, his hands tightening around the wheel as his body tensed up.

"Kidnapped?" I didn't like how lame that sounded.

"Yes Dean, kidnapped, taken, whatever you want to call it. You were knocked out and moved to a warehouse where you were chained up." Sam recited, his voice thick with emotion.

I silently cursed my father for being far too detailed in his information sharing. I didn't need my little brother worrying like this.

"Yeah buddy, I know." I admitted, not wanting to argue and rile the kid up any further. Sam was clearly exhausted, stressed, and concerned. I had no desire to add frustration to the list.

"And you have no idea who it was?" He questioned.

"Not a clue." I confessed.

There was a moment of silence, during which I examined the sasquatch behind the wheel.

Even from a side-view I could clearly see the lines in his face, the ones that always appeared when he was thinking to hard. I frowned at the bruise on his left eye, it was darker now than it had been this morning and the swelling hadn't gone down any. It was obvious the kid hadn't iced the damn thing. I needed to get the name of the jackass that did damage to Sammy's face; he clearly needed to learn what happened when you break rule number one.

"Aren't you worried man?"

The question grabbed my attention.

"Not really. Dad's on it. We'll figure it out." I declared confidently in complete honesty. Whatever happened, I was alive, Dad was alive, and Sammy was alive. Did I want to figure out exactly why I was ki...taken, of course, but my father and I would sort that out later. Right now I was on a road trip with my little brother.

"Dad said he had some leads." Sam added with a sigh, his tense posture relaxing a fraction.

"I know, he'll figure it out. Stop worrying kid." I commanded, playfully smacking Sam's bony knee.

"I'm not a kid." He mumbled, but his body finally relaxed and the lines in his face disappeared.

"You hungry?" Sam asked as he entered what seemed to be the centre of town.

"I could eat." I admitted, just now realizing how much that hospital breakfast hadn't satisfied me.

"And you should eat." I continued, knowing the young man hadn't had anything but coffee since he showed up at the hospital almost five hours ago.

As shocking as it was, Sam actually nodded. His easy agreement set off all sorts of alarm bells in my head, but I kept quiet, not wanting to jinx my good fortune.

We chose McDonald's, seeing as how were were in a big city rather than a small town and had no need to acquire any information, we were simply passing through.

"You want me to grab take-out? Or do you want to go in and sit?" Sam questioned as he pulled into a parking space.

"We'll go in, I've got to take a leak anyway." I said, exiting the Impala before my brother had the chance to play chauffeur again.

Sam may have not gotten out in time to open the passenger door, but he made up for it by opening the door to the fast-food joint. It never ceased to amaze me how a concussion could disable one's ability to pull on a door-handle.

"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a coke?" Sam asked.

"Make it two burgers." I threw in, turning towards the washrooms.

"Uh wait Dean, I uh...I don't have any cash...so..."

"Here." I placed my money clip of bills into my brothers palm, smirking at his discomfort.

"Thanks."

"Oh please, it's not like I haven't bought you meals before." I pointed out, not understanding the shame that was coming off of the kid.

"I know, just thought maybe it was my turn to take care of you. You know?" Sam commented softly as he flicked his gaze between me and the floor.

The words took me off balance for a moment. Sammy feeling bad that he isn't paying for things, feeling bad that he spent all his cash to get up here?

God this kid and his stupid guilt complex; I missed him.

I missed him so fucking much.

"It's just money Sam. Don't worry about it." I stated sincerely, waiting for his nod of understanding before walking towards the bathroom.

"And you better get some real food, none of that rabbit crap." I instructed over my shoulder.

I was too far away to hear what my brother said under his breath, but I'm sure I could have guessed.

After relieving myself I returned to the seating area, scanning for the shaggy headed sasquatch and spotting him as he waved me over.

"Aah, the feast of kings." I sat, already drooling over the meal neatly laid out on the table.

As I took a big bite out of my, already unwrapped, burger; I looked over and examined my little brother's food. Two chicken wraps and a salad, along with what I assumed was an iced tea, because that's the girly sort of thing my little brother chose to drink.

"What did I say about the rabbit food?" I asked around the meat in my mouth.

"Rabbits don't eat chicken Dean." Sam informed me, in that classic I-can't-believe-I-actually-have-to-explain-this-to-you tone.

Smart-ass.

I let it go, because I had learned early on that when it came to Sammy, it was important to just be happy that he ate and less concerned about what he ate.

I would take what I could get, even if it was gross green stuff.

I finished my first burger in time to look up and see the young man across from me starting in on his last wrap. Once I had eaten half my fries, Sam was done.

I stared in confusion, because my brother had never been a quick eater, not ever. Even if he had half the amount of food I did, the kid would still take twice as long to get it all down.

The only time he ever ate that fast was back when we would run out of cash and had to go without a lot, when the kid was really, really hungry.

Shit.

How was he so hungry? I know Sam probably didn't eat on his way up, and he hadn't eaten this morning. That accounted for about sixteen hours, he wouldn't eat that fast after twenty-four hours let alone anything less than that.

Did he not eat at school? I continued to analyze the young man as he sipped on his iced-tea. He looked thinner, not alarmingly so, but skinnier than he was six months ago, thinner than I was comfortable with.

My sweater swallowed Sam, which was wrong, because that was an old sweater and it used to barely fit the kid. Now it looked almost baggy.

I casually nudged the rest of my french fries in Sam's direction and started in on my second burger, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the sasquatch.

Sam ate the fries as quickly as he could, shoving three or four in his mouth at a time, which was very unSam-like. I had questions that needed answers, but I didn't want to ask now, because I knew that if I brought it up he would become self-conscious and stop eating.

So I waited.

I waited until we were both done eating, until we were back in the Impala. I waited until nearly twenty minutes later when Sam suddenly jerked my baby over to the side of the road, dived to the ground, and began to vomit violently.

I hurried over to my brother, sliding my hands under his arms I pulled him further onto the shoulder of the road away from traffic. I kept one long arm wrapped around Sam's chest and another on his forehead, underneath his bangs, keeping his head up as he lost all the food he had only just eaten.

"It's alright. I got you." I instructed uselessly as the young man's body shook with effort as his stomach purged itself of all content.

I crouched behind Sam, supporting him as he knelt, hands pressed into the gravel, while his returning meal splattered onto the ground.

"Awe shit, Sammy." I cursed, holding tight to the kid in hopes of keeping him from falling face first into the mess he'd just made.

"S-Sorry." He stuttered out, breathing heavily as he heaved up nothing more than stomach acid.

"Shut-up." I ordered, not unkindly.

A few minutes later, when Sam had finally regurgitated every possible thing he could, I helped him sit back against the Impala. I grabbed a bottle of water from the back seat and handed it over to my brother.

"Small sips." I instructed.

Sam nodded knowingly, and did just that.

I took the water away after the first few swallows, he sent me a pitiful look as he reached back out for it. Would my little brother ever stop looking like he was seven years old?

"No way man, we don't want a repeat performance." I stated sympathetically, setting the water bottle off to the side.

Sam sighed miserable, but let his arm drop.

I gave my little brother a moment to catch his breath and regain his strength, but I needed answers.

"What the hell Sam?" I asked, far too baffled to form a proper question.

Sam opened his eyes, head coming up from where it had been leaned back against the car.

"Sorry. I guess I ate too much." He said wearily.

"Bullshit." I called, because it was.

The young man gave me a curious look.

"You ate too fast. You practically inhaled your lunch. I haven't seen you eat like that in years." I pointed out.

"Sorry." Sam apologized again, his voice unsure. He clearly had no idea what it was I wanted to hear.

"Why did you eat like that?"

Comprehension dawned on my little brothers face, followed quickly by one of shame as he shrugged.

"You only ever eat like that when you've been hungry for awhile. When you haven't been eating much. So tell me what the hell is going on. And tell me now!" I nearly shouted, my concern coming across as rash anger, the way it often did.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple times, like a fish out of water.

"When's the last time you ate?" I asked in a much calmer voice as I knelt across from the young man, knowing full well that anger and frustration didn't get through to my brother the same way that patience and understanding did.

Sam pulled his knees up against his chest and looked over at me tiredly.

"The day before yesterday." He answered simply.

I tried my best not to show any reaction, my expression neutral, disguising the growing dread I could feel in my gut.

"Are you eating at school?" I questioned.

"Yeah, just...not a lot." Sam replied, his bangs curtaining his eyes.

I leaned forward and swiped the too-long hair off his face, staring into those familiar hazel orbs.

"Why?"

Sam shrugged evasively, not wanting to answer.

Stubborn.

He had always been stubborn, and Stanford clearly hadn't changed that, if anything it made it worse.

"Look man, I know you get really in to your studies and everything; but that doesn't mean you can just ignore everything else. You need to eat, it's necessary, why can't you-

"It's not that."

The interruption was quiet but assertive.

"What is it then?"

"It's not like I don't eat or that I forget to. I eat, everyday. I just don't eat a lot, especially not lately."

"Why?" I asked, my patience wearing thin.

Sam directed his gaze down, staring at his knees as he absently picked at a whole in his jeans.

"What is it then huh?! You trying to lose some weight? You too busy to eat? You trying to starve yourself Sammy?"

"No!" He shouted in defence, glaring over at me.

"Then what?" I yelled, matching his volume. My head was pounding and I was really sick of this stupid game we seemed to be playing.

"I can't afford it! Alright?" He hollered, his angry stare focused on me.

The confession took me by surprise. I ran a hand through my hair as I stared at the kid in front of me.

"What do you mean?"

My little brother's face fell from a look of fury to one of resignation.

"I'm broke Dean. I have been trying to get a job, but it's hard. It has to be near campus because I don't have a car and it has to have flexible hours because my school schedule is insane. Not to mention that my resume is pretty bare, I've got next to no experience and no references. Hunting doesn't look all that great on a job application." Sam pointed out.

"What happened to all your savings?" I asked, because I had known that Sam had been saving for college long before he actually went.

"I spent most of it on books, supplies, and food. I was saving what was left for the second term textbooks that I still haven't purchased."

"I thought you got a full-ride?"

"I did. It covered tuition, accommodations, and gave me some money for books, but not enough. I cashed out of the meal plan so that I could buy a laptop and bedding and other stuff I needed." Sam confessed miserably.

My little brother looked at me, his expression uneasy and he awaited my response. I was still digesting the new information. I didn't know the kid was struggling so much. I had just figured that the scholarship he got covered all the essentials, but I never asked. I never bothered to make certain that my brother was looked after. I never took the time to ensure that everything was being taken care of.

"I eat everyday though Dean, really. I pick up groceries, simple stuff, like we always ate when the funds were running out and Dad was on a hunt. A lot of mac and cheese, sometimes I mix stuff in it like you always used to. I make it last. On occasion Jackson will stalk up on food and then I won't have to worry about it. I try not to eat too much though, because he paid for it all, but I don't think he minds. It's just been bad lately because I had to spring for some knew shoes after my other ones finally fell apart. I was going to cancel my phone plan and maybe get some money for my cell, not that it is worth much, but then I'd have no way to call or anything. I'm sure I will find a job soon though, and I can go without most stuff, we always used to anyways right?"

Based on his nervous rambling, Sam could sense my growing agitation, but what he didn't know was that it was directed at myself, not him.

"Yeah Sam, we went without a lot of the time, but I thought things would be different now." I sighed, because they should be different. They were different for me. I never worried about money now that I could run my own credit card scams, or freely walk into a bar at any time and hustle up some cash. I had believed that Sam was worry free as well. I had thought that maybe the days of never having enough would be over for him.

"I'm sorry." The whispered apology pulled me from my own mental musing and had me concentrating on the disappointed little brother curled up against the Impala.

"For what man? Not being able to grow cash out of your ass?"

Sam's face crinkled up in disgust at my comment as he shook his head.

"No. Gross."

I snickered, because even after six months at some hoity-toity university, Sam was still predictable a hell.

"I'm sorry for making you worry. I should be looking after you right now. It shouldn't be the other way around."

"Sam when are you going to get this through your thick skull? You are the little brother, I will always be looking after you, even when your taking care of me, I will be looking after you. That's what big brothers do." I explained casually, trying my best to keep this out of chick-flick territory, but needing to get my point across.

"That's stupid." Sam declared petulantly, his face morphing into a pout.

"Your stupid." I retorted lamely. I watched a shiver run through Sam's body and decided that we had spent enough time sitting outside in the cool temperature. I climbed to my feet and reaching down to help the kid off of the tarmac. My little brother stubbornly swatted my hand away, getting up on his own and immediately opening the passenger side door, waiting for me to get in.

"No way dude, you were just puking your guts out all over the place, I'll drive."

"Concussion." Sam stated, as though that were enough of an argument.

"Hurling." I replied.

"Not the same. Get in."

I stared up a the little bitch, taking in his confident stance and steady expression, he wasn't going to budge on this one. I released and overly-dramatic sigh and dropped into the passenger seat. I didn't even reject the advil Sam presented me. All the talking and yelling had caused the pounding in my head to escalate to an irritating level.

Sam slid in behind the wheel, sipping on the bottle of water as he closed the door and put the Impala back in drive.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked before my brother could pull out onto the road.

Sam shrugged, glancing over at me, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

"I just...I thought maybe I could do it on my own." He explained quietly as he directed my baby back into traffic.

The Sam Winchester independent streak strikes again.

"You're a-

"Moron, yeah I know." He sighed with a small smile.

"I was going to say dumb-ass." I lied, resting my throbbing skull against the cool window.

Dimples appeared on my kid brother's face as he grinned in amusement.

"Just get some rest Dean." He ordered softly.

I wasn't going to lie, rest didn't sound like a bad idea. I had gotten some in the hospital, but it had often been interrupted by annoying nurses asking me what my name was every five minutes.

I conceded, relaxing against the inside of the passenger door and closing my eyes. I felt the weight of one of the old scratchy blankets from under the backseat as it was draped over me. Rolling my eyes underneath my lids, I just barely resisted the urge to tell Sam to stop fussing. I bit my tongue and decided to let my little brother look after me.

We often took turns looking after each other, or did it simultaneously. I knew that Sam was itching to mother-hen me, and the kid had travelled a hell of a long way to do it, so I'd let him take his turn.

As I allowed myself to begin to fall asleep, I promised that when we got to Stanford, it would be my turn. I would make sure my little brother had everything he needed; clothes, dorky textbooks, and enough food to gain back all the weight he lost and then some. I would also grab the clippers and tame some of that ridiculous mane, because my little brother was starting to look more like my little sister.

I smirked at my own humour and finally drifted off thinking about the bitch-face Sam would give me if I had expressed that thought aloud.

Unfortunately, I did did not awake in the same enjoyable manor.

I was jarred to consciousness at the feeling of Sam's long arm slamming against my chest. I barely had time to open my eyes before the entire world shook and the loud sound of crumpling metal filled my ears. I blindly reached out for me little brother, grasping tightly to the fabric of his shirt right before my head slammed violently into the window, taking the breath right out of me.

I must have blacked out, because the next time I came around, everything was still and quiet...far too still and quiet. I cracked open my eyes, squinting against the searing pain in my skull and subconsciously thought that being knocked out twice in the span of two days probably wasn't the best.

I turned my head painfully to the left, swallowing at the instant nausea that arose at the tiny movement. Sam was pressed against me, his shaggy head resting against my shoulder.

"Sam." I croaked out, unnerved by the lack of reaction.

I twister around to get a better view of the kid.

"Shit Sammy." I cursed, seeing the amount of blood matting down his hair and covering his shirt. The kid's shoulder was twisted at a disturbingly awkward angle, so much so that I cringed at the sight of it.

The passenger side door was caved in. I looked out the shattered window, seeing the windshield of a large pick-up truck. We had been t-boned. I vowed to rip the lungs out of the asshole that damaged my little brother and my baby, before turning my attention back to Sam. Before I could finish triaging the injured young man, I was distracted by the noise of a vehicle door slamming. I watched as a large, looming figure made it's way over to the crushed up Impala.

I was tempted to shout at the dickwad who rammed us, but instead I turned back to Sammy, carefully taking his head in my hands.

"I'm going to fix this Sammy. Alright buddy. Just hold on. I'll take care of you." I promised, my hand shakily brushing his blood-soaked bangs off to the side of his face, wishing to God that I could get a glimpse of those stupid puppy dog eyes.

"Careful boy, I wouldn't go making promises you can't keep."

My head spun around at the voice, one that sounded strangely familiar. Before I could catch a glimpse of the owner, my temple was struck with something that felt like the butt of a shotgun. My world went black for the third time; my last thought was of my little brother.

I was supposed to protect him.

Keep him safe.

Sammy.


	3. Chapter 3

The pain began as a throb.

A full body throb.

But as I came into consciousness it began to grow and pin point.

I could tell I was haphazardly stretched out on a hard surface that seemed to be in motion.

My body was bumping around, the pain becoming greater and less vague.

I particularly aggressive motion jarred me into full consciousness.

My eyes flung open as white hot agony seared through my shoulder.

"Gaah." I groaned out, trying to shift into a less painful position.

"Easy there tiger."

I recognized that voice immediately and did my best to ignore the physical anguish I was feeling and focus on it.

"Dean." I called out, twisting my neck around, feeling gentle hands holding me still as I searched for my brother.

"Don't move Sam. Your shoulder is pretty jacked up. Don't want you making it worse."

I obeyed, but my good hand continued to feel out for Dean.

"I'm right here." He said, grasping my flailing limb with his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze before letting go.

"You okay?" I rasped out, wishing it wasn't so dark and I could turn to examine my brother, to be sure he was alright.

"I'm fine Sam. Just hit my head. You got the worst of it." Dean announced, his tone full of regret.

It was then that the memory came back to me.

The truck had run the stop sign and had been barrelling right for us. I knew the second I saw it that the vehicle was already too close for me to stop it or steer the Impala from it's path. So I had slammed my hand across my sleeping brother's chest in a meagre attempt to protect him from the impending crash.

The last thing I remembered was the feel and sound of the collision and the Impala's door crumpling in, my head bouncing off the window as it shattered.

All that didn't explain where we were now though.

"Where are we?" I asked, squinting into the space, seeing only cracks of light in the darkness that didn't reveal a single thing.

"The bed of a truck."

The news took my by surprise and I made to sit up, but the slight attempt at movement sent daggers through my left shoulder and I gasped.

"Sam! I told you not to move!" Dean barked, a firm grip pushing me back into a horizontal position.

"Why we in a truck?" I bit out through heaving breaths.

"Beats me, I woke up here. Tried to look for a way out, but he's got everything fortified."

"He?" I questioned, trying to concentrate on anything other than the pain.

"Yeah. It's the man who rammed us. I heard his voice. It sounded familiar but I can't peg it." Dean muttered, more to himself than me.

I reached up to the two hands I could feel on my good shoulder, pausing when I felt thick metal instead of skin.

"What the hell?" I muttered, blindly trailing my fingers along the new found discovery.

"Yeah the sonofabitch shackled us." Dean ground out.

I frowned, feeling nothing on my own wrists and then noticing a heavy weight around my ankles, keeping them clenched together. I shifted around, hearing the sound of a chain dragging across the surface.

"What part of don't move isn't getting through your thick skull?" My brother griped in frustration.

"You have them on your feet to?" I asked, ignoring Dean's aggravation.

"Yeah. He probably just left your wrists because he figured your shoulder would keep you out of commission well enough."

I continued to move my legs about, trying to figure out where the chain ended.

"Stop it Sam. I can hear you moving. We are both chained to the truck. We aren't going anywhere." Dean declared.

I finally listened, the agony in my shoulder becoming too much as I lied back. My good arm continued to search, my hand stopping when it landed on a jean clad leg and I left it there.

"What's going on Dean?" I sighed.

"Beats me man, but we'll figure it out." My brother stated, an air of confidence travelling through his voice.

Before I had time to respond, the truck jerked about roughly, going over some sort of bump or pothole.

I was barely able to bite back a cry as my body bounced, my shoulder spiking in pain as my ribs ached and my head pounded.

"Damnit. Dean." I keened out pitifully, my hand clenching onto my brother's pant leg.

"Breathe through it Sam. You're alright." He soothed, his cuffed hands sliding through my hair.

"Wish the bastard would learn how to drive." Dean grumbled, the anger evident in his tone.

I was still struggling to regulate my breathing when the vehicle came to a sudden stop. Light flooded the bed of the truck as the back hatch dropped open. I was squinting against the brightness when I was suddenly dragged from the vehicle by my feet.

I heard Dean yell out in fury from behind me, but I had not time to register what he said before my body dropped from the truck to the ground.

This time there was no hope in withholding sounds of agony. I garbled cry tore form my throat as my shoulder slammed onto the hard pavement and my body was dragged across the ground.

I had my good arm on the ground, searching to grab hold of something, anything that I could use as an anchor or a weapon. All there was was concrete that scrapped the skin from my fingers. I felt the ground beneath me turn from uneven pavement to wood. I struggled to see through the blurriness caused by the moisture in my eyes, but even through my obstructed vision I could tell I was being dragged into an old looking farmhouse.

Then came the stairs.

I tried in vein to protect my injured shoulder, attempting to sit up as I was tugged down each stair by the large main at the end of my chain. However, my efforts were feeble, and by the time I landed at the bottom my shoulder and ribs were on fire.

I was dragged on the ground another few feet, all the while barely holding onto consciousness.

The rough treatment stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The chain attached to the shackles encircling my ankles was dragged across the floor and attached to the concrete wall with an industrial sized lock. It took me a moment to realize I had been left in a cage, a large cage.

I wanted to find out what the hell was going on. Wanted to ask this dickwad who the hell he was and what he wanted, but I couldn't manage to voice any of those questions because I was still working to inhale air.

I could hear Dean hollering, spewing one threat after another as he was practically shoved down the stairs, although somehow he managed to remain on his feet. My brother was forced to shuffle rapidly to keep up with the man pulling him forward as well as the one standing behind him pressing a gun to the back of his neck.

I didn't recognize either man, as I strained to angle my head up far enough to see, but I knew that neither was as big as the one who had dragged me down the stairs. So we were dealing with at least three captors, I mentally summed up.

Dean was brought in next to me, the chain attached to the shackles on his wrist and ankles was locked into the wall beside mine.

Then, without a word, the men pulled the door to the cage closed, deadbolting and padlocking it shut before walking back up the stairs and out of the den.

Once the threat was out of sight, Dean immediately knelt down by my side and his careful hands slid behind my good shoulder and began to push me up.

"Let's get you sitting up little brother." He said, wincing as I groaned in pain.

Between the two of us, I was able to manoeuvre over next to the wall and lean back against it, sweating and panting in response to such a basic task.

"There you are. That better?" My brother questioned, crouching down in front of me.

I nodded, biting back a moan as I shifted against the cold concrete at my back.

"I can't believe he fucking dragged you all the way in here." He seethed, brushing the gravel from my hair and clothes, as he glared at the holes in my sweater caused by the pavement.

"We've got to figure out what's going on Dean. How we are going to get out of here." I stated.

"Yeah we will, just let me take a look at you first."

I smirked, by this point in my life I should really be accustomed to my big brother's unwavering priorities, and the fact that I had always been at the top of them.

The amusement faded quickly as Dean felt around my shoulder. My body tensed as my brother's careful fingers prodded around the injured area.

"Damnit." He cursed.

"What?" I asked, not entirely sure I really wanted to know.

"I was hoping it was a simple dislocation, but I think it's broken. And there's not much I can do to fix it with these damn shackles on." My brother ground out, his agitation at the situation coming through in his voice, but his touch remained gentle.

"You hurt anywhere else?"

"Nah, I'm alright." I dismissed.

"Sam."

There it was, the older brother tone, the one that didn't permit bullshit. The tone that always had me spilling the truth whether I wanted to or not.

"Uhh, my ribs ache, and my head is sort of throbbing." I confessed.

Dean's fingers sifted through my hair, sliding it away from the source of the pain. I felt pricks to my skin, but was careful not to duck away from my brother's ministrations.

"Just picking out some glass." He explained, I could practically hear his jaw clenching the way it often did when Dean tended to my injuries.

He was never good with seeing me injured.

"There's a cut, but it's not deep. Head wounds always bleed like a bitch." He reported, explaining all the blood drying on my sweater and soaking my hair.

A few moments later my brother switched his focus to my ribs, lifting my sweater and feeling along them the best he could with his hands cuffed together.

I took the moment to examine my brother, seeing the swollen, darkening skin on the side of his face, and identifying the weapon use to make such an injury. But butt of a gun.

"You okay?" I questioned.

"I'm fine, you're the one I'm worried about."

Typical.

I felt two of my ribs give way during my brother's examination. There was no need for a verbal declaration, we could both tell that they were busted.

Dean pulled my sweater back down into place before climbing to his feet. I watched him, not missing the anger radiating from him as he pulled angrily at the chain connecting his wrists to the wall.

"Piece of shit!" He hollered as he proceeded to tug at the contraption keeping him captive.

"Dean. That's not going to do any good." I stated calmly.

"You got a better idea?" He barked in reply, but calmed once he looked at me. My brother took some deep breaths and then began to pace around the cell, no doubt searching for a way to escape.

I let my head rest back against the wall and closed my eyes, in too much pain to contribute much of anything.

"Did you recognize any of them?" I asked after a few moments.

"No, not the two assholes that were on me anyway. Never did get a good look at the son of a bitch who was dragging you around." Dean grumbled, his tone lethal.

"I didn't really get a good look at him." I sighed.

"I said Christo. No reaction. So they aren't demons. By the looks of things they probably aren't supernatural at all." Dean observed aloud.

I nodded in agreement.

"I think they might be hunters."

Dean looked down at me, eyebrows raised.

I twitched my head forward, toward the centre of the room, right outside our cage.

There was a devil's trap drawn out on the concrete floor, it looked as though it had been there awhile.

"Well shit." Dean muttered, walking as close to the edge of the cage as his chains would allow.

"Yeah they've got an entire hunting arsenal on the wall over there." He announced.

I couldn't stop the groan that escaped my lips as I twitched in discomfort.

The noise, no matter how minimal, immediately elicited my brother's attention.

"You should be in a hospital." He stated, fury rising as he glared around the room, as though our current environment was to blame for my injuries.

I spent the next five hours watching the light fade from the small window positioned at the top of the wall on the other side of the basement. Dean used the hours to either curse and yell at our absent captors or tug uselessly at our chains.

I tried my best to hide the fact that the cold was getting to me. The basement was chilly to say the least and my sweater was not warm enough, especially now that it was riddled with holes thanks to my trip from the truck.

Dean did his best to pretend not to notice how I would tuck myself further into his old sweatshirt, but I could see the sympathetic looks he would send me out of the corner of my eye. There was no doubt in my mind that had my brother not had thick metal cuffs locking his wrists together, he would have already given me his jacket. I never thought I would be grateful for being shackled, but if it kept Dean warm, I guess it wasn't all bad.

It wasn't until the den was pitch black and Dean had finally given up pacing and hollering, that the basement door opened and someone made their way down the creaky wooden steps. At the stranger's entrance, my brother moved from where he'd been slumped at my side, and planted himself firmly directly in front of me. I smirked fondly at the typical Dean Winchester behaviour.

A switch was flipped and a faint flickering light infiltrated the dark.

I could tell by the sheer size of the individual standing on the opposite side of the cage, that it was the man who had dragged me here.

"Dean Winchester." He greeted gruffly.

"Hank Fenton." My brother growled.

That name brought a memory along with it as it entered my mind.

_I was thirteen, sitting in the motel watching Dean and my father argue._

_They didn't do it often, actually the older I got the more I seemed to be the one always fighting with dad, but today it was Dean._

_"What happened to 'we hunt alone'?" Dean asked._

_"We do, most of the time. But the Fenton boys were already in on this hunt and Hank asked me to help them out. Besides we'll get it done a lot quicker with all of us on the job." John explained as he cleaned and loaded the weapons scattered out across the table._

_I wondered what normal families kept on their kitchen tables, probably not shotguns and machetes._

_Then again, normal families probably had their own kitchen tables, they didn't live in motels._

_I shook my head, hoping to rid of the negative thoughts, they weren't doing me any good anyways._

_"Why don't we just handle this ourselves?" Dean pushed._

_"Because you know that howlers travel in packs son. The last thing we want is to get out there and be outnumbered twenty to three."_

_Howlers, from what I had gathered from the research, they were pretty much just giant dogs; except instead of fur they had spikey, scaley skin, and instead of barking they howled, like wolves._

_"It could just be a pack of three or four."_

_"The research would indicate otherwise. Common or not this seems to be a much larger pack." Dad elaborated, his patience wavering._

_My brother released a frustrated sigh and dropped down into the kitchen chair, reluctantly giving up on his argument._

_"What's with you Dean? You don't put up this much of a fuss when we work with Bobby."_

_Dad had a point, usually Dean wasn't opposed to other hunters, not that we had met many besides Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb._

_"I don't know. These guys are different. I don't trust them." My brother stated frankly._

_"Well you'll only have to put up with them for the rest of the night, then we'll be on our way."_

_My older brother huffed in displeasure, but said no more._

_I couldn't help but agree with Dean. The Fenton's were a rough bunch. Hank and his two sons, Darrel and James were all large aggressive men who made me feel uneasy. Maybe that was just because I was so small, but then I didn't know what my brother's excuse would be._

_The older son, Darrel, even joked around with Dean, but my brother would always just brush him off. They were both big brothers, although Darrel was twenty-five and Dean was only seventeen; but for some reason my brother seemed more mature than the older man. Then again, I was Dean's younger brother, so maybe I was bias._

_Dean and I also got along a lot better than the Fenton brothers. Darrel and James didn't talk to each other much, and when they did it was usually in mockery. Dean and I always made fun of one another, but we weren't serious. I knew that no matter how many times my brother called me a bitch, he didn't really mean it, not in a cruel way. I don't think that James had that same understanding every time Darrel insulted him and called him stupid._

_"I'm going to go discuss the game plan with Hank. You boys want to join?" Dad asked._

_Dean shook his head in response, clearly having no interest in fraternizing with the other hunters._

_I imitated my brother's response, because if he wasn't going, there's no way I was._

_"Alright. I'll fill you in when I get back." Our father declared, exiting the room._

_"Why don't you trust them?" I asked the older boy, looking across the room at him._

_Dean looked pensive as he made his way toward me, dropping down and laying back onto the bed next to mine._

_"I don't know man. You've seen how they act. Reckless and loud. And the way Darrel is with his little brother..." Dean faded off, shaking his head in what could only be interpreted as sheer disapproval._

_"What do you mean?" I questioned, wanting to see if my brother shared my own thoughts on the Fenton sons._

_"You've seen it man. The guy is a total dick. He's always picking on James and pushing him around, calling him names and shit."_

_"You call me names." I pointed out._

_Dean gave me a strange look, eyebrows up as he sat up and positioned himself on the edge of the bed, nearly touching mine as he leaned toward me._

_"It's not the same Sammy."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because I don't mean it. When I call you names and stuff, I'm just messing with you. You know that right?"_

_I nodded, my brother having confirmed what I had already been thinking._

_"You understand? Right Sam? I'd never treat you like that. I'm not a dick, like Darrel." Dean insisted, staring intently at me._

_I smiled, both because I did know that my brother would never treat me that way, and because of what I was about to say._

_"No you're right, you're a jerk."_

_Dean's serious expression faded as a wide grin spread across his face._

_"Oh really? You think so? You little bitch?" He laughed as he launched off the bed onto mine and started giving me a noogie._

_"No Stop!" I hollered through giggles as I tried to fight the bigger teen off. Soon we began to play wrestle, I always lost, but Dean was careful not to hurt me, he always held back, that much I knew. Dean was about twice my size and had advanced way further in training than I had. He could take me down in a second, but he always allowed me to get a few jabs in before carefully winning the match._

_A few hours later we all gathered in the Fenton's room to go over the set plan of attack._

_"We are seriously bringing the kid along?" Darrel questioned, not even bothering to look at me._

_"Hey, Sammy did half the research for this hunt, and he's a hell of a shot."_

_I tried not to smile to widely at my brother's defencive words, but I couldn't help a small smirk._

_"Besides, we can't be sure how many howlers are out there. Best to have safety in numbers." Dad added assertively._

_Darrel gave the group a disbelieving expression, but spoke no more._

_I felt Dean's hand on my shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. I suppose that my effort to show I was unaffected by the older boy's disapproval didn't go so well._

_The plan was simple, we enter the wooded area spread out in a line. We knew the general location of the pack, so we go in spread and sweep toward it. Sort of like a fishing net spread out and dragged over the ocean floor, gathering all the fish together and trapping them inside._

_The Fenton's piled in their truck and we piled in the Impala. Once we arrived Dad parked the car as close to the forested area as possible and we climbed out, knowing we'd have to make the rest of the journey on foot. While our father went to the trunk to pull out the required gear, Dean pulled me aside, bending down to get closer to my face._

_"I want you to stick with me alright?" He said as he zipped up my jacket._

_I rolled my eyes, would my brother ever realize that I wasn't five years old anymore._

_"I always do Dean." I sighed._

_"Yeah I know, but just stay extra close this time. Okay?"_

_I nodded my head in agreement, willing to cooperate in order to ease my brother's apparent concerns._

_"I mean it Sam." He said, his voice stern, the way he always made it when he was serious._

_"I got it." I declared, trying my best to keep the agitation out of my tone; because even though Dean often treated me as a child, I knew it was due to worry and not a desire to belittle me._

_Dean's green eyes analyzed my face for a moment before he nodded in satisfaction._

_Once everyone was set we began trekking through the wooded area, spread out close enough that you could still see the person on either side of you, but far enough that you had no contact with them. I was behind my brother, the position I often took up during hunts._

_After only fifteen minutes of walking the howling began. It was higher-pitched and louder than I thought it would be, not at all like a wolf's call. It began as one, then a few more, soon there was an entire chorus, the howlers all communicating with one another._

_It sounded like upwards of fifty creatures were out in the dark, so much for safety in numbers, I though distractedly_

_Dean tensed as the sounds got closer, spinning around when we heard one come from behind._

_I stayed at my brother's back, the way I had been trained to._

_Out of seemingly nowhere three howlers appeared and the wasted no time charging right for us. Dean shot at the beasts, hitting one, it faltered, but kept moving. These monsters were a hell of a lot larger in life then they had appeared in their pictures. They were coming, and fast. My brother was unable to take them all down at once, injuring one at a time, but not quick enough._

_"Run!" Dean ordered, shoving me forward._

_"Now Sammy!" He yelled once more, getting off another shot and hurriedly reloading the shotgun._

_I obeyed, my pace rapid as I rushed ahead. I heard a cry and glanced to my left in time to see James hitting the ground. Before I could make my way over, Hank was there. He hooked his arms around his son and began dragging the man backwards, unable to liff him due to James' large size._

_I paused in my advance and looked back at Dean. He had three howlers in front of him and one creeping up at his back. I didn't think twice as I hefted up my shotgun and emptied it into the backside of the approaching beast. Thankfully it went down. I made to reload, but as I was about to slide the fresh shells into the barrel, a creature came leaping out at me. I didn't even have time to blink before my leg was in it's mouth._

_I cried out, feeling the limb snap as it was twisted and pulled at an unnatural angle, the pain so excruciating I hardly noticed the sharp teeth penetrating my skin._

_Next thing I knew, I was on my back being dragged by the leg, screaming to Dean and my dad for help in a voice that I didn't recognize. The next unnatural cry did not belong to me, but rather the howler, as it released my leg and limped away. The beast didn't get far before it was struck again, falling to the ground and laying still._

_No sooner had the howler hit the dirt did I feel hands grabbing hold of me and tipping me over a shoulder. Even through the fire I felt in my leg, I knew it was my brother who had me in the fireman's carry._

_There was howling and shouting, but I couldn't make out anything specific as I struggled to hold onto consciousness while Dean ran with me draped over his back._

_I became more aware as I was carefully placed on the ground, looking up to see two bright, terrified green eyes staring down at me._

_I heard footsteps and commotion to my left, and looked over in time to see Dad pull Darrel into the clearing , setting him next to me._

_There was a gash on the older boy's head, but that was the only damage that was visible._

_Next came James, tugged in and dropped on the other side of me. I glanced over at the sound of Hank's urgent hollering. James looked bad. He was covered in blood, most of it covering his abdomen. His flesh was torn to shreds and he wasn't moving. I almost gagged at the gruesome site._

_"Hey Sam, front and centre man."_

_I directed my gaze obediently back up at me brother._

_"You're going to be fine Sammy." Dean declared, his confidence in question at the tremble I could hear in his voice._

_My ability to reply was taken as I felt something being cinched around my injured limb._

_"It's alright, Dad's just splinting you up." My brother explained, his hand sliding through my hair._

_I nodded, giving the only response I was capable of at the time. My hand searched out my brothers as I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out as my leg was being manoeuvred. Dean must have noticed, his larger hand clamping onto my own in comfort._

_I don't know how long we stayed there. Hank doing his best to patch up his youngest son, Darrel remaining unresponsive, Dad doing all he could to defend our position, and Dean switching between helping Dad and making sure I was still conscious._

_Through the haze of pain and my growing exhaustion I could hear arguing. A loud, angry argument drifted over the noise of the howlers and the firing of guns._

_It was a heated fight, and I tried my hardest to comprehend what was going on, but I just couldn't seem to piece together the bits of information I was able to hear. I knew that Hank was angry, and that he was yelling at my father a whole lot. Something having to do with his boys, but that's all I could gather._

_The howling grew louder and closer, and soon I was being held. I had grown up accustomed to my older brother's touch, so I knew instantly that I was in his arms. Thankfully Dean chose to carry me bridal-style this time, I wasn't sure I could handle another fireman's hold. I was tired, and shivering, but I did my best to remain aware of what was going on._

_"You sure you got him?" My father's low gruff tone sounded from over my head._

_"Yeah I got him. Besides, Hank is going to need help with Darrel." My brother stated._

_"Listen Dean, there's a lot of them out there. We don't have a whole lot of fire power left. If things get hairy, you run. Don't wait for us. You just run, get Sam back to the car and get to the hospital."_

_The order had me forcing my head up, my concern for my father clearing my mind a fraction._

_"Dad?" I rasped, my father's face came swimming into view, it was lined in concern as he attempted a smile._

_"Hey kiddo. Everything's alright. you just stay as still as you can."_

_I nodded, glad to be given an order that I was eager to follow._

_"That's my boy." Dad praised, his calloused hand brushy briefly against my face._

_Dean's grip clenched tighter around me as his body tensed and he began to move. I was lost in the commotion. Shotguns firing, beasts howling, men yelling, all I knew were the strong arms wrapped around me and the pain searing up and down my leg. I shut my eyes and relaxed into my older brother, giving up on trying to understand what was happening._

_I must have passed out, because the next time I opened my eyes I was in a white, sterile room._

_Hospital._

_Dean had been there at my side, holding my hand, as I had expected him to be. When I asked what had happened my brother had glazed over the situation. He had explained that Darrel had a skull fracture, but he would be okay, Hank was with him. Dean told me that Dad was fine, but James hadn't made it._

_We never saw the Fenton's after that. We never spoke of the night again._

_Dean spent the next couple weeks in over-protective mode. He didn't let me out of his sight or far from his side, which was fine because I had a broken leg and was in constant need of his help anyways. I had always figured the mother-henning was because of the close call,because Dean was often that way after I was injured._

_But maybe that wasn't it._

_Maybe there was another reason my older brother spent a month smothering me, staring at me with eyes full of concern, and watching over me like a hawk._

I had never heard anyone mention Hank or his son since all those years ago, well, until today.

"And little Sammy Winchester. My god boy you grew." The older man observed, craning his neck to see me behind my big brother.

"Don't you fucking speak to him." Dean ground out, glowering at the hunter on the other side of the cage.

"You haven't changed a bit." Hank replied, his gaze back on the furious young man standing before me.

"Cut the bullshit Fenton. What's the deal? What sort of game you playing?" My brother questioned, he had never been much for pleasantries, even less so when being held captive.

"Six years ago this Thursday, your father forced me to make a choice. In honour of that anniversary, I'm going to make him do the same." The man responded cryptically, flicking the light back off and making his way back up the stairs.

I had no idea what our captor was getting at, but based on the way my brother's face paled, I knew that he had some degree of understanding.

"What the hell? You came all the way down here just for that? Get back here Hank! You son of a bitch!" Dean hollered, pulling violently at his chains as he made his threats.

The hunter let out a disturbingly amused laugh as he disappeared from sight, the basement door slamming closed in reply.

My brother kicked uselessly at the wall, cursing, before eventually sliding down to sit himself next to me.

I could hardly see the older boy in the dark, the only light was the faint shine coming through the window from the moon outside.

However, I did not need to see Dean to sense the frustration running through him, as well as the anger and concern.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" I questioned tiredly.

"Long story man. You should get some rest."

"I'm pretty sure I remember most of the story...up to the part where I got my leg snapped."

Dean tensed instantly at the reminder.

"I just need you to fill in some of the blanks." I insisted, cursing the yawn that slipped from my mouth.

My older brother released a put-upon sigh.

"I'll make you a deal. You get some rest and then I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

I considered the deal, knowing that Dean was just trying to get his own way. But I couldn't deny the weariness I was feeling, or the heaviness of my eyelids.

"Fine. But I'm holing you to your end of the deal." I declared, letting my eyes fall shut as I leaned my head back against the wall, trying to hide the shiver that crept up my spine.

Dean swore under his breath, proof that I didn't do so well at disguising my chills.

"How's your head?" I enquired, feeling sleep pull at me, but needing to make certain he was alright before giving in.

"It's fine, about the same as yours probably." Dean admitted miserably.

I doubted that was true. My brother had been in the hospital with a grade three concussion just this morning, there was no way his skull wasn't killing him. I didn't bother arguing though, because he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger and I was in no condition to force the truth out of him.

"Come here sasquatch." He mumbled, using one of his shackled hands to gently slant my head toward him, not stopping until I was resting against his shoulder.

I didn't object. Dean's shoulder was a hell of a lot softer and warmer than the concrete surface at my back.

"So much freakin hair. It's ridiculous. Your like a damn puppy dog. The eyes and the shaggy mane.." My big brother mumbled to himself.

"You're just jealous." I whispered through another yawn.

"Ha! Trade these handsome rugged good-looks for your puppy dog features. I don't think so."

"You'd get more girls." I pointed out with a smile, waiting for the bewildered reaction I knew was coming, wishing it was light enough to see the humorous expression I knew Dean would be wearing.

"Oh please! Sexy gets you laid, cute puppy dog just gets your cheeks pinched." My brother declared with a good natured chuckle.

I grinned, letting sleep take over, satisfied that I had brought Dean some degree of joy, maybe even provided him with a fraction of the comfort he always gave me.

I owed him that much.

Hell, I probably owed him a lot more.

He was always saving my ass.

Maybe this time I would save his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/review if you have a spare second! - Sam


	4. Chapter 4

Note: So sorry everyone! This took 5x longer than it was supposed to. My laptop has been going insane, so I ended up having to type this all out on the Notes app on my Ipod...do you know how hard it is to type a 6,000 plus word story on an Ipod?! It's really bloody difficult. Anyway, hope you like it!

* * *

I awoke with a start, first registering the shivering body pressing against me and then the sound of footsteps clunking down the stairs. I was on high alert, ready do protect my brother, but maintaining a seated position because I didn't want to wake the kid.

A large man came to a stop in front of the cage and turned to face me.

I recognized him immediately, and not just because he had recently held a gun to my head.

"Darrel." I snarled, instinctively pressing a palm against Sam's chest, both as a protective action and in an effort to comfort as the young man roused at the sound of my voice.

"Now you recognize me." He said, a wide sick grin spreading across his face.

"Now that I know what to look for I can't miss those beady eyes." I stated, shocked that I hadn't pegged them earlier. Then again, Darrel had changed an awful lot in the past five years. He had a face full of facial hair that he hadn't had before and a hell of a lot more muscle by the look of it.

"Man you haven't changed a bit." He observed pleasantly, as though we were talking over coffee and not through metal bars.

I didn't give a response, having no interest in casual conversation.

"Sammy though, damn he's grown."

My hackles raised at the mention of my little brother, but before I could speak the man next to me made a comment.

"It's Sam." He declared, in a voice that was much stronger than he looked as he lifted his head from my shoulder and straightened his posture. I smirked at a phrase I had heard on numerous occasions, but never in such a furious tone. I patted Sam's knee supportively, but didn't remove my eyes from the present threat.

"Oh, all grown up now are you boy?"

The degrading inquiry pissed me off and I would have risen to my feet if Sam hadn't snagged the bottom of my jacket.

"What the hell do you want Darrell?" I asked.

"You never were one for pleasantries Dean, that's one of the things I like about you. You're a cut the bullshit and get to the point kind of guy."

"And apparently you're not."

I smiled with pride at my little brother's quip.

God I had missed this kid.

"Ha! You're one to talk. Sammy Winchester, always such an inquisitive little bastard."

I had had it with this asshole taking shots at Sam.

"You better shut your mouth Darrel, or I'll rip your fucking lungs out." I seethed.

The man's look of playful amusement faded away, apparently I could be at least partially as threatening sitting down as I was standing up; which was good because by the amount of weight that was leaning against my side, I had a feeling that if I stood Sam would topple right over.

"Always with the violence Dean. Even after I came all the way down here to give you this."

Darrel tossed something through the bars of the cage and it landed at my feet, I glanced down, my eyebrows climbing upon identifying it as a key.

"What sort of game you playing?" I asked, my attention returning to the man smirking down at me.

"Don't get excited, it's only for your wrists."

I squinted in disbelief, trying to figure out what his angle was and how using that key could come back to bite me in the ass.

"Relax man, the shackles around your ankles and the cage are enough to make sure you don't go anywhere. We were going to take them off before we stuck you in there, but nobody volunteered to be standing that close to you when your hands got free."

I couldn't deny that it made sense, but still made no move to grab the key, because I didn't want this bastard to think that he was doing me any favours.

Darrel snorted, shaking his head. "Use them or don't. I don't give a shit."

I tracked the burly man as he made his way up the stairs, not taking my eyes off of him until he was out of sight and I heard the cellar door open and slam closed.

My little brother immediately sagged back against the wall, head dropping back down onto my shoulder the second we were alone.

"How you doing buddy?" I questioned, my focus solely on Sam now that the threat had left.

"I'm okay." He replied, although his voice was shaky and breathing unsteady as a hard shiver ran through the kid's thin body.

I knew those shivers were making the pain worse. There's nothing like having an injury that's consistently aggravated by non-stop involuntary movement.

"Liar."

Sam released a light chuckle.

"What hurts the most?" I questioned, knowing that his head was probably aching and his shoulder and ribs would both be causing a significant amount of pain.

"Shoulder." My brother answered without a moment's hesitation.

I grimaced, I had figured as much.

"How are your ribs?"

"Not bad, just a bit of an ache. I'm fine." He declared, pulling his head up off my arm and giving me a look that, based on the dimples, I'm sure was supposed to be reassuring. However, the lines of pain marring his young face did nothing to ease my concern.

"Grab the key. I'll unlock you." Sam said, nodding his head toward the small object on the floor next to my boot.

I had almost forgotten about that.

I grabbed it and dropped it into Sam's open palm.

I couldn't help but to notice his hand shaking as he struggled to line up the key with the lock hole.

"Sammy?"

"It's nothing. It's just chilly down here. That's all."

I rested my fingers against the young man's wrist as he unlocked my cuffs.

"Shit man, you're freezing." I snapped. I had known Sam was cold, I had felt him shivering most of the night, but I hadn't realized he was down-right icy.

"I'm fine Dean." Sam insisted, even as his trembling fingers pulled the shackles off my wrists.

My brother winced as he looked down, I followed his gaze. The skin that had been under the metal bracelets was now raw and bleeding.

"I told you to stop pulling on the chain." Sam admonished.

"It doesn't even hurt man."

"Yeah well it could get infected."

"Seriously? You've got a broke shoulder, two broken ribs, and cut on the side of your head, and you're bitching up some scrapes?" I questioned in disbelief as I pulled my hands away and shrugged out of my leather jacket.

"Dean leave your coat on. I'm fine. You need to stay warm." Sam ordered.

I shook my head in exasperation as I climbed to my feet, immediately putting out a hand to support my brother when he began to tip to the side.

"I am worm. I've got some muscle and body fat, unlike you. Besides, I'm not the one shaking like a virgin on prom night." I pointed out, ignoring my brother's protests as I leaned him away from the concrete wall and slid the jacket in behind.

"Put your arms through." I instructed.

Sam remained still, glaring up at me

"Dude come on, don't be an ass. Just put your arms through the damn sleeves."

The stubborn brat just proceeded to sit there and stare.

"I'm not putting the coat on. So you can wear it and get warm, or you can toss it on the floor. Either way, I'm not putting it back on."

Sam practically growled, before aggressively shoving his right arm through the sleeve and grimacing as he attempted to the same with his left.

"Whoah, take it easy Sam. Take it easy."

I squatted down, my hand on Sam's elbow to stop his rash movements. I pulled the jacket gently over his shoulder and carefully helped slide the lanky limb into the sleeve.

I pulled the coat together at the front, but didn't zip it up, not wanting to place any added pressure onto his injuries. I winced at how my clothing swallowed up the younger man.

God I needed to get this kid fattened up,

Sam twitched, trying to get comfortable as he leaned back against the wall.

I picked the key up off the ground and tried it in the shackles around my little brothers ankles, chucking it across the cage in frustration when it failed to work.

"He told you it was only for your wrists." Sam reminded me.

"Yeah I know. I was just hoping I could use it to pick the other locks, but it doesn't even fit in the damn hole."

I looked aimlessly around the room, scowling at the countless number of tools hanging on the opposite wall, as far away from the cage as possible.

I tested the bars of our own personal prison, only to confirm what I had figured out yesterday, they were solid and there was no way we were braking out.

I heard Sam sigh softly behind me and turned to face him.

He looked more relaxed, eyes closed as he rested against the wall.

"See? Things are better when you're not freezing."

A smile played on my brother's lips.

"I'm not going to say it."

"Say what?" I questioned innocently.

"The thing you want me to say. I'm not saying it." He declared, peeking out at me from underneath half-mast eyelids.

" 'You're right Dean '. How hard is that to say? You know that it's true."

Sam's grin broadened in amusement.

"I'm still not saying it."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

I couldn't help but smirk at the familiar insult.

"So you going to tell me what happened on the hunt?" Sam asked.

Damn, I had really hoped the kid had forgotten that promise.

I should have known better.

Sammy never forgets.

"What hunt?"

"You know what hunt. The last one we went on with the Fenton boys." My brother stated.

"Why don't you just get some rest? You're half-asleep now."

"Dean."

Yeah, I hadn't thought it would be that easy.

"Fine."

I continued to pace around the confining space as I retold the story of the hunt, or at least the parts of it that my little brother might have been a little fuzzy on.

_What the hell sort of pack was this?_

_Howlers were supposed to travel in small groups, and even though we had some suspicions that this one was larger, there shouldn't be this many of them._

_Not to mentions these fuglies were twice the size I thought they'd be._

_I took another one down, reloading quickly as there were still three coming my way._

_I heard shots from behind me followed by the the loud thump of a large carcass hitting the ground. Someone was watching my back, and I knew exactly who it was._

_It was the same kid I had just told to run, who clearly wasn't running. I would reprimand Sam if I wasn't so busy trying to keep these howlers from tearing into me._

_A guttural scream pierced the air and the threat to my well-being was forgotten as I spun around. My heart stopped beating at the sound of my baby brother in pain._

_I immediately spotted Sam on the ground, his leg trapped in the monster's mouth. To my horror it started to run, dragging Sammy across the forest floor as it moved._

_"Oh hell no!" I shouted, hastily firing at the howler closest to me before taking off in a sprint._

_I reloaded my shotgun as I ran, emptying it into the fugly that had dared to hurt my baby brother._

_The first shot had the animal releasing the young teen's limb, and the next two had the monster dead on the ground._

_I wasted no time, knowing there were several howlers on my heals, I snatched up my little brother and draped him over my shoulder. I could feel the blood from his leg seeping into my clothes and it added to my speed, as did the pained cries that Sam released during our race to safety._

_There was an overhang up ahead, it was almost a cave that was formed into the side of the hill due to erosion and the peculiar growth of several trees. We had agreed to meet there if things went south and making it back to the car wasn't an option. What we didn't know was just how quickly everything would go south._

_I heard hollering and looked to my left. Hank was yelling, pulling James along as he moved, he was looking past me. I glanced over to the right where Darrel was falling to the ground._

_Well shit._

_I continued to make my way to to the shelter. There was no way I was risking Sam by diverting off course. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad pull the older boy over his shoulders. Hank and my father proceeded to shout over the sounds of gunfire and howling, but I paid them no mind._

_I had one person to focus on._

_And that was Sam._

_I had to get him to safety and I had to do it now._

_With a burst of speed I made it into the overhang, trying desperately to ignore the kid's anguished cries as I gently laid him on the ground._

_I dropped down to my knees leaning over to get a look at the Sammy's face. It was lined with pain and his eyes stared up into mine in agonized confusion._

_Before I was able to offer any words of encouragement Sam's head turned, gaze landing on our father as he trudged into the small space, lugging Darrel's body and placing him in the dirt next to my little brother._

_I didn't pay the older boy much attention, but based the gash on his head it was clear that he was not going to be conscious any time soon._

_Hank arrived a moment later, dragging James and leaving him on the other side of Sam. I glanced at the other injured man, cringing at the sight. James was bad off. His entire torso was shred to a nearly unrecognizable degree. He was coded in blood and his ribboned skin was hanging out of place._

_I tore my eyes away and focused in on my number one priority._

_Sammy._

_Who was currently staring in horror at James' mutilated body._

_"Hey Sam, front and centre man." I instructed loudly, knowing the kid would follow the order out of pure instinct._

_I could feel the blood on Sam's leg soaking through my jeans as I knelt next to him and I could hear the howlers getting closer._

_Shit this was bad._

_But my kid brother was staring up at me with two hazel eyes full of fear, so I tried my best to exhibit an amount of confidence that I was not feeling in the least._

_"You're going to be fine Sammy." I promised, inwardly cursing the tremble that snuck into my voice._

_Before Sam could do so much as nod, his body tensed and he gasped. I had already noticed my father squatting beside me and looking over my little brother's injury. I glanced over to see him using sticks and fabric strips off his shirt to perform first-aid on the clearly broken limb._

_"It's alright, Dad's just splinting you up." I explained, comforting Sam one of the only ways I could at the moment, by sliding my fingers through his shaggy hair._

_The young teen bit down hard on his bottom lip, but nodded up at me in understanding._

_Sam's eyes filled as he shifted minutely in discomfort. I felt his fingers brush against my jeans and I immediately knew what the kid was searching for. I wrapped my hand around his smaller one, holding tightly and allowing him to cling in return._

_Once Sam seemed a little more stable, tears no longer threatening and breathing a little more steady, I leaned back closer to my father._

_"How bad is it?" I asked in a hushed voice, my hand still clamped around Sam's as my gaze wandered over his leg._

_It was clearly broken, even splinted it up it remained obviously misshapen. As if that wasn't bad enough, there was blood coding the entire limb. The red liquid continued to seep into the ground, the howler's teeth had cut deep._

_Really fucking deep._

_"Bad enough." John bit out, as he tied the last piece of what used to be his outer-shirt around the oozing puncture wounds._

_I watched as my dad looked down at his hands upon finishing up, they were soaked with his youngest son's blood and shaking because of that._

_The older hunter was frozen, staring down at his red-stained appendages._

_"Dad?" I called out softly._

_He looked up at me. His face lined with concern as terror flashed through his eyes, but only for a moment. I barely had time to blink before my father schooled his expression, strong determination falling into place._

_"I'm going to try and hold off these bastards until we are ready to move. You keep watch on your brother. Make sure he doesn't go in to shock and keep him conscious."_

_"Yes sir." I declared, having no issue following such an order._

_I looked back over at Sam. The kid's eyes were glued to me, but they had a distant glaze, which told me he wasn't really seeing me and I had a feeling he wasn't hearing me either._

_I squeezed my brother's hand supportively, before releasing it so that I could shrug out of my jacket and spread it over the teen's thin frame. The blood loss was no doubt making the kid chilly, and I needed to do all I could to stave off shock._

_"You're going to be okay Sammy." I promised again, swiping the bangs off Sam's forehead. He proceeded to stare at me, but made no reaction to my words._

_I stayed by my little brother's side, only moving away when I was called by our dad, who was struggling to fend off the howlers. Hank was too busy trying to patch up his youngest son to be of much help, but even with the two of us, Dad and I quickly came to the conclusion that we didn't have enough manpower or fire-power to hold our position._

_After we took down every fugly creature in our line of sight, my father turned around to address the oldest Fenton._

_"Hank we need to move." He announced, in that no-argument tone that I knew so well._

_The other man's head shot up so fast he could have gotten whiplash._

_"We can't. James isn't stable." He declared._

_"We can't wait." My dad countered, tone strong and sure._

_"What the hell are you implying Winchester?" Hank shouted, climbing to his feet._

_"We need to leave Hank. Now, before the rest of the howlers arrive."_

_As if on cue, a loud chorus of howling could be heard from close by._

_"We don't have much time and we need to make a break for it while we can. We need to move now." John clenched his jaw, before continuing. "And we are going to have to leave James behind."_

_This time it was my head that shot up from where I was kneeling next to Sam._

_"What?" Hank and I questioned in unison, although one of us was much more furious than the other._

_"Sam is not walking out of here."_

_I couldn't hold back a flinch at that statement._

_"And Darrel isn't either."_

_Dad and Hank had both tried to rouse the eldest Fenton brother several times with no success._

_"So we carry them." Hank said._

_"And James? You think we'll make it out of here alive? No one firing at these damned creatures? You think you can out run a howler while carrying your son?" My Dad questioned, taking a moment to empty his shotgun into a few monsters that were getting a little too close to our shelter._

_"If you're suggesting that I leave James behind. You're out of your damn mind." Hank snapped, stepping closer to my father._

_"He's not going to make it! Look at him Hank!" My father hollered, gesturing toward the broken boy._

_"You don't know that!" He shouted directly into John's face._

_"What other choice to we have? We can't carry them all back. Not if we want to make it." Dad insisted, firing again at more approaching howlers._

_Sam's hand twitched in mine. I looked down, his gaze was still distant, but I knew he could probably hear the commotion, and I could tell it was frightening him._

_"It's okay Sammy." I reassured softly, as I rested my hand on his forehead I grew instantly worried about how chilled it felt._

_His skin was clammy and he was shivering slightly._

_"You take your boys and you bring back help." Mr. Fenton suggested._

_"That's suicide Hank and you know it! You can't hold off these howlers on your own." My father replied._

_"Then we'll call for help."_

_"Even if we had cell phone reception you know there aren't any hunters near by. Not close enough to get here before we run out ammo."_

_"Call the paramedics."_

_"Civilians? You think they wouldn't show up and get eaten alive?" Dad argued in disbelief._

_"I'm not leaving my youngest boy, John." Hank seethed._

_"Then you'll be condemning your oldest to death!" My father yelled._

_The other hunter glared at my father, his face alive with rage._

_Dad softened his voice before speaking again._

_"Look Hank, I've thought about this. The only way we get out of here is if Dean takes his brother and you and I take Darrel. That's the only way we have a chance at being quick enough while still being able to defend ourselves." John explained, regret laced in his tone, but certainty was present as well._

_There was a lull in the argument, as Hank was tormented with his decision._

_I placed my hand on Sam's chest and felt him shivering, his eyes rolling about aimlessly as his fingers continued to twitch against my palm._

_"Dad." I called out softly, not having to say anymore before John was squatting down across from me, focused on Sam._

_His calloused bloody fingers came to rest against the young teen's cheek._

_"He's going into shock." He cursed, slipping out of his jacket. My father cautiously leaned Sam forward, pulling him up off the ground and sliding his coat in behind the young boy._

_I helped the older hunter guide my little brother's arms into the much bigger sleeves. Dad tugged his jacked around Sam's skinny torso, before draping mine over his chest. Then he glanced down at the injured limb, swearing at the sight of the blood soaked bandages as the wounds proceeded to ooze._

_"We need to get him out of here." John stated, pushing to his feet. "Hank you do whatever the hell you want. But me and my boys need to go, and we need to go now."_

_The other hunter shot down a few more howlers before spinning around._

_His face held less rage and more resignation, but he still looked pissed as hell when his eyes landed on my father._

_"You'll give me five minutes to say goodbye to my boy. And then you will help with Darrel. You try and leave before that, I'll shoot you down like one of these fucking creatures."_

_I tensed at the threat, but didn't move from my spot next to Sam._

_Dad took a deep breath, no doubt struggling not to react to the threat in the way he normally would. He nodded firmly before taking point, holding off the approaching threat as Hank returned to his youngest son's side._

_"Keep your eyes open Sammy." I ordered, watching as the kid struggled to focus his gaze back onto me._

_"That's it buddy." I praised, discouraged my Sam's lack of reaction to my words._

_I kept my stare on my little brother, both because I couldn't help but focus on him, and in an attempt to give Hank the privacy he needed._

_James wasn't conscious, he hadn't been since his dad dragged him over here, and he probably wouldn't ever be again. By the looks of him, I would be surprised if the man's heart was still beating. But that didn't make it any easier for Hank to leave his son behind, even if it was for the sake of his other child._

_I couldn't imagine being in the older hunter's position. I could never leave Sam behind. No matter what the cost. And I knew my father would never be able to either._

_There was a stall in the defensive gunfire, even as the howlers continued to make noise, sounding as though they were coming closer and closer by the second._

_Dad suddenly squatted down next to me._

_"You have to carry your brother Dean." He said as he slid his hands underneath Sam._

_"Yes sir." I responded, standing with John as he carefully handed the lanky kid over to me._

_I hooked my arm under Sam's legs, cringing as I felt his blood-soaked pant leg. My other arm curled around the young boys back, keeping the jackets in place around him as I pulled him into my chest._

_"You sure you got him?" Dad questioned._

_"Yeah I got him. Besides, Hank is going to need help with Darrel."_

_"Listen Dean, there's a lot of them out there. We don't have a whole lot of fire power left. If things get hairy, you run. Don't wait for us. You just run, get Sam back to the car and get to the hospital." My father instructed, his eyes imploring me to understand._

_I nodded obediently. I had no interest in leaving my father behind._

_But John could take care of himself._

_And Sammy came first._

_Sam suddenly lifted his head up off from where it had been resting against my collarbone._

_"Dad?" He questioned, his voice not much louder than a whisper._

_John's face morphed instantly from determined hunter to reassuring father._

_"Hey kiddo. Everything's alright. you just stay as still as you can."_

_Sam nodded, resting his head back against me in apparent relief, as though he had been expecting a more difficult demand._

_"That's my boy." Our father praised, cupping Sam's cheek for a brief moment._

_Dad looked back up me, a question in his eyes, asking if I was ready._

_I nodded in confirmation, pulling Sam tighter into my chest in preparation. Hank and my dad moved toward Darrel, lifting him off the ground and each of them pulling one of his arms over their shoulders._

_Hank was cooperating, but the furry radiated off of him as we prepared to make our way out of the clearing._

_I looked down as I felt a tug on my amulet. Sure enough Sam's bony fingers had wrapped around the small charm as he stared at it dazedly._

_My protective streak surged higher than I ever thought possible, as my grip clenched impossibly tighter around the most important thing in my life._

_There was no way in hell I was losing Sam tonight._

_Not the way Hank and Darrel were losing James._

_I was going to get my kid brother to safety if it was the last thing I did._

_I nodded at my father once I caught his eyes on me, telling him I was ready._

_Seconds later we were running through the forest. My legs pumped as I set a rapid pace. I stayed behind Hank and John as they booked it, Darrel dragging in between of the two larger men. They took point, firing at the howlers as the moved._

_Dad shouted at me to get up ahead as more howlers moved in from behind us. I waited until a path was cleared before rushing past the other hunter, feeling the howlers hot on my tail as I dodged trees and monsters on my way to the Impala._

_Sam's body was tense in pain, until all of the sudden it wasn't._

_I risked a glance down to see my little brother's eyes closed, his hand releasing my amulet, as he went slack against me,_

_I put on a burst of speed I didn't know I was capable of, not stopping or slowing until I made it to the Impala._

_My dad and Hank made it out of the wooded area seconds after me. John helped load the remaining Fenton son into the truck before rushing over to my side, just in time to help close the door after I had climbed into the back seat with Sam still secure in my arms._

_We heard the squeal of tires, and I glanced out the back window to watch Hank's pick-up gun it down the road._

_Dad dropped into the front seat._

_"Hold onto you brother." He ordered, I didn't bother telling him just how unnecessary that bit of instruction was as I dropped my chin onto Sam's shaggy hair._

_The Impala tore into the gravel as my father sped after the truck. Both vehicles headed straight to the hospital._

_I whispered meaningless promises into Sam's ear all the way to the hospital. Begging him to hold on, and cursing his pale clammy skin and the way it advertised just how bad off my kid really was._

_It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes before we were pulling up to the emergency room._

_Dad leapt from the car and pulled Sam out of my grip. I felt a piece of me fall away when the young boy was taken from my arms, and I scrambled out of the Impala, following my father as he rushed through he door, precious cargo tucked against his chest._

_In a whirlwind my kid brother was swept away on a stretcher surrounded by doctors and nurses, headed straight to surgery._

_Darrel followed him shortly, leaving John, Hank, and I sitting uselessly in the hospital room._

_Mr. Fenton glared at my father hatefully._

_I didn't much care._

_My whole world was in surgery right now._

_Everything that mattered to me was bleeding on a cold metal table surrounded by strangers who were "hopeful that they could save his leg."_

_I gagged at the reminder of what the doctor had said before he disappeared with my little brother._

_Dad dropped down onto the hard plastic waiting chair next to mine. He scribbled on the clipboard handed to him by the nurse, probably writing down our fake insurance information, before returning it to the front desk._

_"Dean." My dad called out gruffly as he bent down in front of me._

_I tore my eyes away from the doors that swallowed Sammy, and gave my father the requested attention._

_"I'm going back with Hank to get James."_

_I cringed at the thought. The howlers had been all over, there was no way they left his body alone, and even if they had, the young hunter had still been tore to shreds._

_"You call me if there's any news on Sam. They don't expect he'll be out of surgery for another couple hours. But you call me if anything changes."_

_I indicated that I would with a nod of my head._

_"Good man." Dad praised. He was about to pat me on the knee, when we both got a look at his hands and realized they were still encrusted in blood._

_Sam's blood._

_I glanced down at my arm and saw the same offending red liquid smeared across it from where I had been holding my brother's legs._

_"Go wash up while your waiting." John instructed, before straightening up and following Hank back out of the E.R. doors._

_I washed up in the small bathroom, scrubbing viciously at my skin until every drop of Sammy's blood had washed down the drain. Then I spent three more hours in that hard-ass chair staring uselessly at the doors separating me from my brother._

_Finally the doctor returned, calling for the family of Samuel Milton._

_He told me that Sam would be alright. The break was clean and had been reset and casted. He also explained that the patient had lost a lot of blood and was already one his second transfusion. Even with all the relieving information, I was not yet able to breathe until I was escorted to the kid's hospital room and was able to see him and hear the sound of his heart monitor, indicating that Sam was still alive._

_He looked too still and still far more pale than I was okay with, but he was alive and he would recover._

_I swept the young teen's unruly bangs off his forehead._

_"You scared the shit out of me kiddo." I confessed as I dropped into the chair next to the bed, my legs giving out as an overwhelming sense of relief filled my body._

_I grabbed onto Sam's hand, entrapping it in mine. It was far warmer than it had been last time I held it._

_Dad appeared a short while later. The same sense of relief filling his features at the sight of his youngest as I gave him all the information the doctor had relayed to me._

_John informed me of Darrel's condition, telling me that Hank was with him now._

_He made no mention of James, and I didn't ask._

_My father stuck around long enough to be sure Sam was on the road to recovery, then he went out searching for coffee._

_He had never excelled at waiting, especially when there was nothing further to be done, no more action to be taken._

_I sat in that chair, clutching my little brother's hand, as my mind bombarded me with what could have been._

_Sam could have died._

_I could have been like Darrel._

_I could have lost my little brother that night._

_I thought of how horrible it would be for the older Fenton boy to wake up to find that his kid brother was gone._

_I wondered if Darrel would regret all the times he had treated James like shit._

_If he would want to take back every time he had pushed the young man aside._

_If he would want to erase all the insults he was always throwing at his little brother._

_Then I began to wonder what I would have regretted if Sam had been the one to die._

_If I would feel guilty for all the times I called him a geek or a wuss._

_For all the times growing up when he wanted to play with me and I had turned him down because I was "too old for baby games."_

_If I would feel guilty for not telling Sam enough how much me mattered to me._

_I realized at the end of my long, painful, train of thought, that the thing I would have regretted most if Sammy had died, was that I hadn't saved him._

_The one thing I would_ _**never** _ _be able to forgive myself for, was not being able to save him._

_So I decided that I would always save him._

_I would protect Sam from everything, because losing him was not an option._

_And it never would be._

"So that's why you went all mother-hen on me."

Sam's statement had me confused.

"I just told you all about the hunt that you've been so curious about, and that's all you got from it?" I asked, as I slid down the wall to sit next to him, now that the story was over.

"No, I also understand why Hank hates Dad."

I nodded, because that much was now obvious.

"And maybe a little more about why Darrel hates me." Sam said.

"Really?" I asked, eyebrows up, because personally I had never been able to figure out what that asshole had against Sammy.

"His little brother died, I lived."

I thought about it for a moment. I suppose that made some sense.

"Then again, he wasn't a huge fan of me before James died." Sam recalled thoughtfully.

That was also true.

"Well it's not like he was much of a fan of his own little brother." I pointed out.

The young man next to me nodded slowly in agreement.

"Yeah, he was kind of a dick."

"Kind of? He treated James like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe." I grumbled in disapproval.

Sam didn't disagree.

We sat in the quiet, my mind continually replaying the events I had just spoken of. Thoughts of what my life would be like now had I lost Sam that night poisoned my brain.

I didn't think I would have a life now if I had lost Sammy on that hunt.

"Hey Dean?"

I was thankful for the interruption to my dark considerations.

"Yeah?" I asked, turning to face Sam only to have him lean up against me, his shaggy head falling down against my shoulder.

"Thanks." He said through a yawn.

"For what?" I asked, looking quizzically at the pained young man; wondering what in the hell he could possibly be thanking me for as we sat on cold concrete, inside a cage, in a vengeful hunter's cellar.

"I don't know. For looking out for me. For being bossy. For being a mother-hen." He stated, although there was no joking tone in his words, but rather sincerity.

"I'm guessing this is the concussion talking." I quipped with a smirk.

Sam head came up unexpectedly, his gaze locked on mine. His face was lined in discomfort and exhaustion, but his eyes were determined and adoring.

"I meant it Dean. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me Sam. I'm just doing my jobs. That's what big brother's do." I replied in all seriousness.

"Not all big brothers." He declared.

"Oh don't you dare compare me to that douche-bag."

Sam released an exasperated sigh, sounding very much like his teenage self.

"I'm not. I'm just saying that when it comes to big brothers, I got lucky. And I know that."

I didn't know much what to say to that.

Sure, I could tell the kid that he was not the one who got lucky.

That he was the best damn little brother a person could ask for.

That he made my life worth living just by breathing.

But that would start the mother-of-all chick-flick moments.

So instead I slid my arm in behind Sammy's back, and pulled him against me, careful not to touch his broken shoulder as I held him into my side.

Surprisingly, the independent young man made no resistance, going with the motion and willingly leaning into me.

Shit, this kid must really be hurting.

"You were right." Sam mumbled after a moment, his eyes closed as he rested his head against my collarbone.

"About what?" I asked, looking down at him.

"About the coat. Everything hurts less when I'm not shivering." He admitted.

"See? Was that so hard to say?" I mocked.

"Bite me."

I laughed at the petulant reply.

"No way man. You haven't showered in how long?! You'd taste nasty."

"Not as nasty as those words tasted. I'm never admitting that you are right again. Tastes like ass."

Another surprised laugh flew from my mouth.

God this kid.

This fucking kid.

He had three broken bones, a pounding headache, and though the shivers had stopped, I knew he was still pretty cold; and yet he could still make me happier than anyone else on the damn planet.

I didn't know what the Fenton's had in mind.

I didn't know what kind of game they were playing.

But if they thought for one minute that I was going to let them touch my little brother again.

They had another thing coming.

Because I had spent my entire life protecting my kid.

And there was no way in hell I was stopping now.

Or ever.

* * *

Note: Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/review if you have a second. It would be really appreciated. It makes all the effort worth it! - Sam


	5. Chapter 5

Note: So sorry this took so long! My laptop is messed and writing fics on the Notes app on my Ipod really isn't the fastest way to go about it. Anways, I hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

"How's your head?"

"For the hundredth time Sam, it's fine."

"Well sorry if I'm a little worried that you've been concussed twice in like, what? Three days?"

"Three times."

"What?"

"I've been knocked out three times." Dean confessed, being sure to avoid my gaze.

My mouth dropped open.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" I snapped.

"Oh I don't know, maybe I thought you'd freak out, like you are now."

"Sorry, I must be overreacting. Because there is no way that that's a big deal right?! I mean who cares about having that many concussions in such a short period of time?! It's not like it can lead to brain damage or anything." I spat back sarcastically.

Dean rolled his eyes, as though I was being ridiculous, as though I had no reason to be concerned.

"You're a moron." I declared, glaring at the older man.

"And you're a worry-wart. Just relax, okay? I'm fine." He stated with a put-upon sigh.

"I'll be sure to remember you said that next time you ask about my shoulder." I replied bitterly.

Dean frowned at that, but made no further comment.

I turned my head away, not having the energy to move too much, but requiring a physical method to display my frustration.

It baffled me that Dean was allowed to mother-hen all over me, but if I so much as inquired about his well-being, I got my head bit off for it.

Why did he think he was the only one with a right to be worried about his brother?

Oh yeah, because he was the oldest.

I snorted in disdain for that asinine concept.

"What's your problem?" Dean questioned upon hearing my sound of derision.

"You. You're my problem." I stated, turning my head back to glare at the man next to me.

I watched as his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"And what did I do this time?" He asked, but not in the mocking tone I expected, but rather with a tired sigh.

I let some of my anger fall away, realizing that we were both trapped in a cage, chained to a wall, and Dean was probably pretty chilly seeing as how I was still wearing his coat.

Those were all good reasons to just let the argument die-away, but I had always been much too stubborn to permit that.

"You somehow think that it's okay for you to mother-hen the life out of me, but if I dare to ask you just once how you're feeling, you-

"Once? Dude, you've asked me at least a dozen times."

"Don't be so dramatic, Dean."

"Okay, fine, at least a half-a dozen times."

"I have not!" I shot back defensively.

"You're freakin kidding me right?" My brother shouted.

"I haven't asked you that much -

"You damn well have! You're like a bloody parrot."

"A parrot? Seriously? Do you even hear yourself?"

"All I know is you keep repeating the _same_ question over and over-

"Oh my gawd you are such a drama queen." I interrupted in complete exasperation.

"Ha! _I'm_ the drama queen? You start this entire argument because you don't think I give the proper reaction to you badgering me, and _I'm_ the drama queen?"

"Yes. _You're_ the drama queen. This is why I have to repeat myself so often, because you don't get it the first time around."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, and by the look on his face he was about to do so in a defensive manner, but before he could get any words out we heard the sound of the basement door being shoved open as the squeal of the hinges echoed through the room.

The discussion was immediately dropped as my brother rose to his feet and planted himself firmly in front of me, while we tracked the boots clumping down the steps.

I felt like a child seated behind Dean, but I knew standing would result in a hell of a lot of pain that would probably cause me to appear even more pathetic than I already did.

I sat up and made an effort to look attentive and impassive as Darrel appeared on the outer-side of the cage.

"Oh please boys, don't stop arguing on my account." He smiled.

I didn't move my stare from the older hunter, but I could sense my brother's body becoming impossibly more tense, clearly he was unimpressed with the fact that someone had been listening.

"I could hear you going at it from upstairs." Our captor continued, pausing and looking expectantly between my brother and I, clearly waiting for us to elaborate, which neither of us had any intention of doing.

"What were you two going on about?" Darrel questioned, selecting a more blunt course of action, seeing as how we had ignored his less-than subtle hints.

"None of your damn business." Dean spat.

The man across from us smirked in amusement, seemingly unthreatened by my brother's irate behaviour.

"Oh come on Dean. You're forgetting I had a little brother once, I remember how pathetic they can be."

I was taken aback by Darrel's flippant mention of James, as was Dean, not that anyone other than myself would be able to tell.

I followed my brother's lead, and made no response to the comment.

The older hunter sighd, visibly disappointed that we wouldn't participate in his little game.

"Here." He said, tossing a water bottle into the cage.

I watched as it hit the ground and rolled into Dean's foot.

My brother did not bother giving it a glance, refusing to remove his eyes from the threat.

He had always been a better hunter than me.

"You do realize there are two of us in here?" He pointed out sarcastically, having clearly seen the object that had been thrown into our cell without ever actually looking at it.

Like I said, a better hunter.

"Yeah well, I just brought the one. So you can fight for it if you want. Or you might as well enjoy it, because it's not like Sammy is in any shape to take you. Not that he has ever been capable of that. I'm betting you've always been able to beat the shit out of him, no matter how tall the bugger grew." Darrel chuckled casually, as though we were all just having a casual conversation over a couple of beers.

Dean practically snarled at the older man, obviously unimpressed with his attempt at humour.

Darrel registered my older brother's anger, and seemed a little surprised by it.

"You're telling me that you've never had to put the squirt in line before? You never had to pound him into shape?" He questioned, appearing genuinely curious.

Dean made no response, and though I couldn't see his face, I could imagine the dangerous look in his eyes, and could practically hear the the clenching of his jaw.

"You've never had to teach that insubordinate little bastard a lesson?" Darrel balked.

"The only one who needs to be taught a lesson here, is you Darrel." My brother seethed, his tone lethal.

I knew that tone.

It was the same one my brother used on supernatural fuglies, particularly ones that brought harm to me.

It was the exact one that he used on school bullies who refused to leave me be.

It was a tone I hadn't heard in some time.

And it was one that had always promised a whole lot of pain.

I was tempted to smirk over at Darrel, the way I always had at the bullies as I took my place behind my brother's back, but this particular bully's next words stalled my childish behaviour.

"Still in protective mode I guess. Thought you would have grown out of that by now Dean, especially with your burden having gone off to school.

That one hurt.

Everything else Darrel had said hadn't fazed me, none of his words had stung, except those.

I tried not to display my injury upon my expression as I stared levelly at the hunter who was gleaming down at me.

Dean stepped further in front of me, sufficiently blocking Darrel's view of me and mine of him.

My older brother moved forward harshly, his chains rattling as he stretched them as far as they could go.

"Don't you fucking dare speak about Sam that way." He glowered.

I couldn't see Darell, but judging by the dismissive grunt I heard, I imagined he was rolling his eyes.

"Sure Dean, whatever you say." He mocked.

I heard his heavy gate as he made his way back up the stairs.

Dean remained planted in front of me, and we both kept silent until the basement door was slammed shut.

My brother turned to face the wall, fury still radiating from his body as he began to tug aggressively at his chains.

We both knew it was a futile process, but Dean needed to release some anger, so I let him take out his frustrations on his bindings, briefly.

But not for too long.

"Cut it out Dean, before your ankles end up looking like your wrists." I ordered, raising my voice to be heard over the clanging of the metal and my brother's aggravated grunts.

He attacked the chains for a moment longer, before delivering one last hard kick and giving in.

I reached forward, wincing as my shoulder expressed is disapproval of my movement, and grabbed the water bottle.

I could see that it was unopened, and it's not like the Fenton's would bother drugging us at this point, so I unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle to my brother.

"Here." I said, dangling it in front of him as he sank down to sit next to me.

Dean mumbled a thanks as he took a couple swallows before returning it.

I was about to put the lid back on when Dean swatted at my hands.

"Drink." He instructed.

"Dean I-

"Drink, Sam." He repeated, using that no-bullshit tone I knew so well.

I rolled my eyes, but obediently took a couple sips before capping the water and setting it off to the side.

My stomach took that moment to express its disapproval over the lack of substance, by gurgling loudly.

I winced, knowing how my brother would react to the noise, and I was proved correct a second later when Dean's scowled deepened and he hollered a curse out to our captors.

"They can't hear you." I pointed out unnecessarily.

"Apparently they can." Dean snapped back, referring to Darrel's knowledge of our argument.

"Well, even if they can. Cursing them out probably isn't going to help anything," I stated calmly.

"It's going to help me!" My brother contradicted.

I sighed tiredly and nodded my head, because Dean was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to do, so there really wasn't any point in me wasting my breath.

And he thought I was the stubborn one. Ha!

We sat in the quiet for a while.

I did my best to ignore my empty stomach, as Dean silently fumed.

My mind must have wandered at some point, because I was startled back to the present by my brother waving his hand in my face.

"What do you want?" I grumbled, turning to see him.

His body was more relaxed, was relaxed as it could be while we were still being held captive in a basement, as he stared steadily back at me.

"I just wanted to know if you could still see out of that eye. It's practically swollen shut." He declared nodding toward the injury.

With all the pain in my shoulder and the discomfort in my ribs, I had completely forgotten about the black eye.

"It's fine." I dismissed.

But of course, Dean didn't let it go.

"I should have made you ice it."

"You weren't even there when it happened." I pointed out,

I would have thought that statement would have eased my brother's irritation and let him off the hook, but all it did was make him grimace.

"I know. But I should have made you ice it when I noticed it at the hospital." He stated bitterly, obviously pissed with himself.

"It was already ten hours old by then. Ice wouldn't have done anything." I announced, knowing that Dean knew that fact to be true.

My brother released a long sigh, clearly not wanting to let the matter drop, but he seemed to resign himself to reality nonetheless.

"How'd that happen anyways?" He asked.

"I already told you."

"No, you just said it was some college kid, you never said who or why."

"It's not very interesting." I warned, knowing that Dean probably wouldn't be the least bit impressed by such a mundane situation.

"Well do you see anything more interesting to do around here?" He commented, gesturing to our surroundings.

I shrugged, not denying the fact that there wasn't much else to occupy ourselves with.

No amount of pondering seemed to help us figure out what the Fenton's master-plan was, and Dean had already confirmed (on multiple occasions) that there was no way we were getting out of the damn cage or our chains.

"It was Mike." I said.

"Mike who?" My brother questioned, angling so he didn't have to twist his neck to look at me.

"Jackson's friend, the one I told you about who's always over."

"Oh yeah, the loud party-animal?"

"Yeah, that one." I confirmed.

"Didn't you say that he was a pretty big dude?"

"Yeah, same height as me and he's into boxing."

"Ooh." Dean whistled. "So he's big all the way around then eh?"

"He's pretty built." I admitted with a nod.

"So why the hell did he slug you? Or better yet, how did he manage to get the drop on you? Because I know you've been getting soft kid, but I didn't think you were _that_ soft." My brother mocked, gently nudging my uninjured shoulder, his way of making sure that I knew he was only joking.

I huffed a small laugh.

"Yeah well, I was a little preoccupied. I guess I didn't really see it coming." I confessed.

"Maybe I have lost my edge." I mumbled as an after-thought.

"Dude, you were at school, doing the whole normal-life thing. You shouldn't be on edge." Dean declared, although I could tell that it made him uneasy to know that I wasn't as guarded as I probably should have been.

"So what made him swing at you?" He questioned.

"Well, I kind of twisted his wrist...hard. I mean not hard enough to break it or anything, but hard enough to hurt."

Dean's lack of comment had me glancing to my right, I snickered at the shit-eating grin lighting up his face.

"You've been holding out on me Sammy. Here I am thinking you've gone soft, but you're the one picking the fight."

I rolled my eyes at my brother's observation, but didn't bother denying any of it.

"So what exactly did this Mike kid do to get you all fired up?"

I shrugged in response, as much as I could shrug with a broken shoulder.

"It was nothing." I muttered.

"Bull! C'mon Sam, I know you. You're all democratic and shit, there's no way you get physical unless someone gives you a damn good reason to do so."

"He took something that didn't belong to him." I replied vaguely.

"What did he take?"

I didn't say anything, trying to find a way to answer my brother's inquiry that didn't make me sound like such a girl.

How could I explain that Mike wouldn't give me back some ugly necklace I gave to Dean back when we were just kids, and it made me so made that I nearly snapped his wrist?

How did that not make me sound like an emotional girl.

"Was it one of your precious school books? Or maybe your library card? Did he steal your hairbrush Samantha?" The man next to me joked in good-nature as he lazily flicked at my hair.

I ducked my head away from Dean's reach, careful not to move too quickly and end up aggravating my injuries.

"It was the amulet." I answered with I sigh, knowing there was no way to get out of being honest. Dean had all the time in the world to keep harassing me, so it was best just to get the story over with.

"What?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"He took that." I nodded to the charm hanging around my brother's neck.

"How did he get it? I thought you said you found it on your doorstep?"

"I said it was on my doorstep, Jackson was the one who found it."

Dean nodded at the information and waited for me to proceed.

"It was in an envelope, didn't even have my name on it or anything, but he just figured it was for me and left it in my room. I found it when I got home and when I realized what it was, I went to talk to him. I was asking him about it when Mike came over and started teasing me and stuff-

"Teasing you? What was he saying?"

I couldn't help but smile at the anger in my brother's voice.

Dean had always insisted that he alone held the right to ridicule me, and anyone else who had ever tried it had suffered at his hands.

"Just stuff. Stuff about how I never joined the party. He wanted me to drink with them, but I wasn't interested, so-

"What a dick."

The insult had me chuckling.

"I'm surprised you think so." I commented.

"What do you mean?" He inquired, sounding offended.

"Oh come on dude, you have always been on me to get my head out of books and not be such a, what is you call me? Oh yeah, fun-sucker, party-pooper, thrill-killer-

"It's different when I do it, Sam. It's not like I mean that stuff, I just say it to annoy you."

I gave my brother a disbelieving look.

"Okay, _sometimes_ I mean it, but...it's not...when I...it's just different." Dean insisted.

I let him have that one, because I understood his way of thinking. .

When my big brother said something negative about me, it was teasing, but when someone else did it, it was bullying; and those were two **very** different things in Dean's books.

"Anyways, when I went to head back to my room, Mike grabbed the amulet from me and wouldn't give it back until I had a drink...so I made him give it back." I finished.

"And I'm guessing his reaction to a hard twist of the wrist, was to deck you in the face." Dean ventured.

"Yup, pretty much."

"When we get back to Stanford, I'm going to go have a little talk with this Mike kid." He announced.

I shook my head in exasperation, knowing from a long history or Dean dealing with douchebags, that there was nothing I could do to change his mind.

"If we ever even get out of here." I mumbled, more to myself than my brother.

"Hey, don't be like that man. We'll get out." He declared, with all the confidence in the world.

I studied his face.

Even now as an adult, it was awfully difficult for me to tell if my brother truly believed his words, or if he was simply displaying false conviction for my sake.

He looked honest enough.

I let my gaze wander the dim basement.

By the amount of light entering the small window I could tell that it was probably around mid-afternoon.

I sighed, resting my head back against the wall and trying to ignore the ache of hunger in my gut. I hadn't eaten much this past week, and the past few days there had been a particular lack of food. I hadn't eaten the day I found out Dean was in the hospital, or on the journey to get to him, and the food we had eaten yesterday had come right back up before it had been able to do my body any good.

Needless to stay, I was famished.

I didn't dare voice that fact though. Dean was furious enough with our circumstances, I didn't need to go adding to his anger and concern by complaining.

"You okay?" My brother asked, as though he could hear my thoughts... which really wouldn't surprise me.

"For the hundredth time Dean, I'm fine." I whined petulantly, mocking his earlier statement.

He huffed in irritation and leaned back against the wall by my side.

"How do you think they knew?" I wondered aloud a moment later.

"How did who know what? You're going to have to be a little more specific there kiddo."

I made an effort not to role my eyes at the childish nickname as I continued.

"How did the Fenton's know about the amulet? How did they know that if they left it on my doorstep I would suspect something was wrong and go searching for you?"

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes aimlessly roaming the room as he considered my inquiries.

"Well when they grabbed me maybe they noticed I was still wearing it. They don't know where it came from or anything, but they must have at least known that you would recognize it as being mine. It's pretty original. And I guess by not marking the envelop or anything they knew you wouldn't be sure as to who sent it. And naturally you would be curious about it and try and contact me."

I nodded in agreement.

"You think there plan was to lure me to wherever you were and then they'd use the two of us to get back at Dad."

"That's pretty much what they are doing now." He pointed out.

"Yeah, but I feel like they are improvising a little more now. When I spoke to Dad he thought it was a trap, he thought whatever or whoever grabbed you intended on keeping you for awhile, they didn't know that you would be found so soon. What I don't get is how didn't they know? The Fenton's know our family pretty well, they had to know you and Dad would be together. Didn't they know that Dad would come looking for you as soon as you disappeared?"

I glanced to my right, looking to see what my brother was thinking.

The expression on Dean's face was pure unadulterated guilt.

"Dean?" I prompted, getting the feeling that I was missing something.

"They probably thought I was hunting alone."

"Why would they think that? They were tracking you. They knew what city you were in and where you were staying. How could they not notice Dad being there?"

"Because he wasn't there."

I stalled at my brother's response, not liking the confession.

"What do you mean? Weren't you guys just finishing up a case?" I asked.

"I was finishing up a case. It was just a small one but it came up the same time as another and they were both causing fatalities so Dad and I just decided it was best to split up and take care of both of them before more people were hurt. We were supposed to meet the next morning."

"You weren't hunting together?" I questioned, the news hitting me like a punch to the gut.

"We were going to be, I told you we were going to meet up-

"But you weren't together."

"Sam-

"You were hunting alone." I bit out, my mouth going dry as reality sunk in.

Dean was left hunting alone because I wasn't fucking there.

Because I had gone off to school, and while I hadn't failed to realize the pain my decision had caused my family, especially Dean; I had neglected to think of what greater risk my absence may have put my brother in.

I had never been the most skilled Winchester when it came to hunting. And although I knew my presence would be missed in the family, as well as the family business (particularly in the research department), I never once imagined that just by not being around I was placing them in danger.

I was placing Dean in danger.

"Sam, buddy I know you worry. But you don't have to. Dad can take care of himself. And I can take care of myself."

I snorted bitterly.

"Yeah, that's why you woke up, tied up in a warehouse."

I didn't say it to be cruel, or make my brother feel incapable, I was too busy hating myself to insult him.

"Sammy. C'mon man, look at me."

I ignored Dean's hand on my shoulder, staring absently at the far-side of the room as I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

"You've always been a stubborn little bitch." I heard him grumble as he moved away and crouched down in front of me, making it impossible for me to avert my gaze with out appearing completely childish.

"Sam. Dad and I are both grown men. We know what we can handle. We don't split up unless it is necessary and we are sure we can handle it."

"Dean, you and I both know that things never go as planned. Sometimes you think you can handle it, you think it's not a big deal and you know what's going on, but then something happens. The supernatural is unpredictable. That's why you need back-up." I insisted, trying not to sound as though I was pleading, but still needing my big brother to understand what I was saying.

"Sammy." Dean sighed, a soft smile on his face. "Just because we aren't in earshot of each other all the time doesn't mean that we don't look out for each other. We check in constantly, that's how Dad knew something was up, that's why he went looking for me."

"It's not the same." I contended.

"Not everything can always stay the same little brother." Dean remarked gently as he slid his hand to place on the back of my neck and gave it a comforting squeeze.

His green eyes never parted from mine as he spoke. I found both sadness and reassurance within them.

"I'm sorry Dean." I whispered, my voice full of emotion.

"What the hell for? You didn't do anything." My brother professed, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

"I left."

My tone was full of reproach as I hung my head.

"Hey! Woah now! You went to _school_ That was what you wanted. It's still what you want. Right?"

I shrugged, no longer able to answer that question with all the conviction I used to have about the subject.

"You need to live your own life. Don't make decisions about your future based on Dad and I. Don't stay with us and spend the rest of your life being back-up just so you don't have to worry. That's cowardly Sam."

Dean ducked down, forcing himself into my line of sight before he continued.

"And you may be a hell of a lot of things little brother, but you ain't never been a coward. And you never will be one. It's not in you."

My brother stared at me with such conviction, such certainty that it was hard not to believe him.

Inside I still knew that my decision to run off to school was putting my brother in more danger than he was already in. I also knew that if he ever got killed because I wasn't there to back him up, I would never forgive myself.

I was no longer certain that going to Stanford was the best thing.

But I was sure that Dean would never see it the way I did.

"Yeah, because you raised me better." I declared with a small smile.

The man before me grinned, his face lighting up just the way I hoped it would.

"Damn straight."

He patted me on the shoulder, and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the scream of the basement door hinges.

My brother was on his feet in a second, standing protectively in front of me as we heard the approaching footsteps, multiple sets of them.

Sure enough, both of the Fenton men were standing on the other side of our cell, another man joined them, one that I only recognized from yesterday when he had helped Darrel lead Dean into the cage.

"Step aside Dean. I've got some questions for your brother." Hank commanded.

I rolled my eyes, clearly that man didn't know my older brother all that well.

As I had predicted he would, Dean moved further in front of me.

I couldn't see his face, but it wasn't hard to imagine the defiant scowl that was no doubt implanted on it.

"Don't make us do this the hard way. Just step aside." The eldest Fenton threatened.

I swear I could hear the man planted in front of me growl.

"Dean, it's fine." I said, grabbing hold of my brother's pant-leg, and tugging it to the right in an effort to encourage him to move.

There was a minute of silence, as my brother considered which course of action to take.

I waited patiently until he moved no more than three inches over, just far enough that I was given a clear view of the men watching us, and they were able to see me.

The man I didn't know looked through the cage bars with mild disinterest, Darrell's expression held a sick looking smirk as he stared down at me, and Hank appeared the same way he had last night, bitter and vengeful.

"Sam, where is your father?"

The question threw me. I didn't know what I had been expecting them to ask, but that hadn't been it.

"No idea." I answered casually, biting back a groan as I forced myself to sit up a little straighter, not at all enjoying the way everyone was currently staring down at me.

"Bullshit." Darrel spat.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dean's fists clenching, but he remained silent.

"You called him, did you not?" Hank questioned, his voice clipped in anger.

"Yes." I admitted, seeing no point in denying what they already seemed to be aware of.

"And did he not tell you where to find your brother?"

"He did."

I didn't know how they knew all this, clearly they hadn't heard the conversation or else the would know as well as I did that I had no idea where my father was.

"And then he informed you of his location." Hank continued, sounding more furious with each statement.

"No. He didn't say where he was or where he was going." I informed the group.

"Don't lie to me Sam."

I could tell that with each passing second Hank was losing more and more control and that soon he was going to snap, but there was nothing I could do to stop that.

"I'm not. He never told me." I stated levelly.

"Where the hell is he you lying little bastard!?"

And there was the snap.

As Hank hollered he moved right up to the cage, grabbing onto the bars and screaming through them. That very same second, Dean placed himself back in front of me; had his chains been long enough I had no doubt that he would have moved a few steps forward and stood face-to-face with the infuriated Fenton.

"He said he doesn't know anything Hank. So back the hell off." Dean barked with half the volume of the older hunter, but an even higher level of menace.

"Fine. We'll do it the hard way."

At Hank's words the two men at his side stepped into action. Darrel unlocked the door as the other hunter stepped inside, he held what looked to be some sort of black baton in his hand and approached my brother.

I fought to rise from my seated position, ignoring the searing pain the travelled through my shoulder at the movement.

Darrel passed the man with the weapon and came at us in a rapid pace. He bulled right into Dean, the two of them struggled for a brief moment before Dean landed a well-aimed punch that had his attacker stumbling backwards.

Before my brother could even gain his bearings and reset his stance, he dropped to the ground like a sack of flour.

I noticed the baton in the other hunter's hand was pressed into Dean's side, and I quickly realized that it was not a baton at all, but rather some sort of taser.

The weapon left my brother practically seizing on the floor.

I immediately reached out for him, having to remove the steadying hand I had positioned on the wall to do so, but before I could grab hold of him, my feet were ripped out from underneath me.

I had no time to cushion my fall as I landed hard on my front, crying out as my broken shoulder and ribs met the unforgiving floor.

I didn't even have time to catch my breath before I felt my body being dragged across the ground.

I reached out desperately for Dean, relieved to see the tasing device was no longer being held against him, as my fingers gripped onto his shirt-sleeve.

My brother's movements were spastic and uncoordinated as he struggled to get a grip on my arm before I was ripped out of his reach.

The dragging stopped once I was hauled out of the cage, which was slammed closed and locked as quickly as it had been opened.

I strived to hold back sounds of agony as my arms were mercilessly bound behind my back and shackled together. I was still gasping for breath, trying hopelessly to get a grip on the pain when I was roughly manoeuvred up onto my knees.

I could hear Dean bellowing over all the chaos and was doing my best to focus on his voice instead of the fire in my shoulder.

There was a brief moment of stillness when I thought maybe it was all over, but then thick calloused fingers grabbed hold of a chunk of my hair and wrenched it back, jerking my head violently upwards.

I could see Dean, we were only separated by a about five feet and a row of metal bars.

There was sheer fury painting his face, which only cracked a little when his wrathful green eyes met mine. Then, and only then, did the fear and desperation show through.

"Just remember, we tried to do it the easy way."

I barely had time to register the words before my entire body was screaming in torment. Every muscle I had felt like it was being pulled and ripped into pieces. A garbled shriek was torn from my throat as the taser was pulled back for a short second only to be reapplied a blink later.

If hands had not been forcing me to remain in a kneeled position, I would have dropped weightlessly to the ground.

A moment later the muscle-tearing pain came to an end, and I was left gasping for oxygen as my body involuntarily twitched and shuttered.

Once the haze of anguish had cleared, my brain registered the sound of my brother's voice, and I cracked my eyes open, searching for the only person who I knew could make this better.

Dean's eyes were wide with terror as they focused on me, his hands clenched into fists, as his body vibrated in barely contained rage.

I tried to reassure my brother, tried to give him a small smile, give him a fraction of the comfort that he always offered me in times like this, but before I had the chance, Hank squatted down in front of me and blocked my view of Dean.

"Let's try this again shall we Sam. Where is your father?"

"He doesn't know!" My brother shouted.

No one paid him any mind though, Hank stare never wavering as he waited for my reply.

"Told you. I don't know." I ground out, doing my best to keep evidence of pain from my voice.

Both because I didn't want to give those assholes any satisfaction, and for the sake of my brother, so he would know I was doing okay.

"Wrong answer." Hank stated.

As the older hunter stood and moved from my view, I knew exactly what was coming, and based on Dean's horrified expression, he did as well.

I stared into his eyes, pulling every ounce of strength from them that I could.

"If you hurt him again I will kill you I swear! **I will kill you all!** "

That wasn't the first time I had heard my big brother make that threat.

And as I braced myself for the pain that was soon to ravage it's way through my body, I prayed to God that it wouldn't be the last.

But as the electricity took control of my limbs, and the agony tore into me, I was terrified that this was the end.

I was terrified that Dean would be left alone in the basement.

That he would be left without back-up at the hands of the Fenton's.

That he would be left to suffer all by himself.

I was terrified that I would be forced to abandon him.

And that I would let him down.

Again.

* * *

Note: What do you think? Is this chapter worth the all-nighter I just pulled? Please let me know what you think, it makes all this time and effort worth it! Thanks for reading! And I promise the next update won't nearly as long as this one did!- Sam


	6. Chapter 6

Note: So sorry this took so long. This chapter really did not want to be written. It is _stupid_ long if that makes things better?!

* * *

They wouldn't stop hurting him.

No matter how loud I shouted or what threats I spouted, they wouldn't leave my little brother alone.

The kid barely had time to breathe before that damn cattle prod was jammed back into his side.

Our captors stopped trying to keep Sam up in a kneeling position, and just let him flop around on the ground.

He wasn't even able to cry out, he just convulsed around on the concrete floor until the electric source was pulled away from his body, his faced morphed in muted screams he was incapable of releasing.

And I couldn't to shit to help him.

My chained ankles and the cage were keeping me from saving Sammy.

A rage I had never known I was capable of was awakened within me, as I was forced to watch my baby brother being tortured.

I had never felt as desperate as I did while watching my kid suffering, choking on his own cries of agony as he thrashed about uncontrollably.

I would have given anything to end my little brother's pain.

_Anything_.

There was a brief moment of reprieve, where Sam was left panting and groaning on the ground, as that asshole Hank was bent down over him, hollering demands.

"Where's John?" The eldest Fenten barked out less than two inches from my little brother's face.

"He doesn't know! Leave him alone!" I shouted, tugging uselessly at my chains in a failed attempt to get closer to my brother.

Sam coughed, his body twitching as it struggled to recover from the constant electric current that had been running through it.

Hank tossed an impatient look my way before violently gripping the front of Sam's sweater and tugging the young man up closer to him.

"Gaah!" Sam cried out.

"Don't touch him!" I ordered, knowing the harsh movement and the awkward angle would be agony on his broken shoulder.

"Where is he, Sam?" Hank growled.

My brother inhaled shakily, his exhale just as unsteady as he looked up at the older hunter.

"Already told you, I don't know." He rasped. I could tell by his steel gaze that he was going for strong, but he sounded far too wrecked to be able to pull it off.

"You were the last one to speak to him. You really expect me to believe that John just disappeared without telling his boys where he was at?" Hank spat.

He was shaking and there were tears of pain streaming down his cheeks, but my little brother still managed to pull off a bitch face flavoured with a dramatic eyeroll.

"That's exactly what he did. He does it all the fucking time. Obviously you don't know the man all that well." Sam declared, somehow managing an exasperated teenage attitude, despite our current circumstances.

Hank snarled, releasing his grip on my little brother, causing him to drop gracelessly back to the ground, grunting as he did.

"Hey!" I shouted, finally acquiring some attention from the three men. "He's already told you he doesn't know. Leave him alone!

I diverted my gaze from Sam, just long enough to see Darrel send a vicious grin my way.

Before I could utter so much as another syllable, that asshole took the cattle prod he held in his hand, and rested it against the chains around my brother's ankles.

Sam cried out, his body jerking.

As if the electric shock wasn't bad enough, I knew that the metallic shackles would be heating up and burning the young man's skin.

I shouted for them to stop, knowing that it wouldn't do any good, but unable to stand by in silence as my brother suffered.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually Darrel pulled the cattle-prod away from Sam's shaking form.

My heart shattered as I watched the hurting boy attempt to crawl away from the three hunters. His muscles wouldn't cooperate enough for him to fight back or stand, and his arms were trapped behind his back preventing an actual crawl; but his feet scraped against the ground and he fought to slide his way across the floor.

"Not so fast Sammy-boy."

I glared daggers at Darrel for daring to utilize my nickname for my kid brother in such a hateful way.

I barked out more threats as the now-youngest Fenton reached out, grasping Sam's leg and roughly dragging his body back, so he was laying at the hunter's feet.

The scream released by my brother had me cringing, and yanking again on my chains, not caring when I felt the rusted metal scrape off the skin on my ankles.

"Don't fucking touch him." I seethed. My voice dark and angry, as I tore my gaze from the thin frame trembling uncontrollably on the ground, to glare up at the three men.

"I acquire no joy out of this Dean. I simply need some information." Hank declared levelly.

"He doesn't _know_!" I shouted.

"I think he does." The eldest hunter reasoned, speaking calmly, as though we were discussing a simple business deal, and he wasn't in the midst of torturing my little brother for information he didn't fucking have.

"He doesn't. Our dad doesn't keep us in the loop. Sam isn't even hunting any more. There is no way John told him where he was headed! If he would tell anyone, it would be me." I pointed out, more than happy to switch places with my kid brother, willing to do anything to protect him from any further harm.

"Dean! No."

I glanced down upon hearing the gravelly tone. Sam was staring over at me, pulling his head up off the ground so he could see me more clearly. I could tell it was costing him energy he didn't have as his body shuddered, but he maintained eye-contact with me, his hazel eyes bright with moisture as they stared steadily into mine.

He shook his head in the slightest, pleading with me not to put myself in the line of fire.

What the kid didn't understand, was that had always been exactly where I was supposed to be. That is where I needed to be to keep him safe.

I sent him an quick apologetic smile before looking back up at our three captors.

"I know my dad better than anyone. I've been hunting with him. If anyone knows where he went, it's me. Not Sam."

Darrel sent me a disgusted look I didn't completely comprehend, as Hank just glanced at me with mild amusement.

The third hunter kept his eyes on Sam, not looking nearly as malicious as the other two. He had appeared vaguely disinterested ever since I first saw him, he was probably no more than hired help. He clearly had no emotional connection to anyone or anything in the situation.

My focus landed back on Hank as he began to move toward me, stepping over my kid brother's injured body to do so.

I growled.

Hating the way he was treating Sam, like a piece of garbage that had been littered in his path.

"No, don't. Leave him alone. He doesn't know anything." Sam rasped, his voice cracking as he struggled to move in my direction.

Before I could assure him that I was fine, and order him to stay still - there was no way all the wiggling about wasn't murder on his shoulder- Hank spoke up.

"Don't worry, Sam. I know your brother doesn't have any information. He wasn't even conscious when your daddy took off."

Sam squinted over at us, I could tell his muddled mind was trying to decipher the words and translate the new information, he was fighting to figure out whether or not I was in danger.

"If you know _when_ John left, why don't you know _where_ he went to?" I inquired smoothly, not wanting to express my unease they Hank did, in fact, seem to be aware as to just how long I had spent unconscious.

"It was my mistake really. I had eyes on you." Hank twitched his head in the un-named hunter's direction. "When John left the hospital, I told him to stay with you. I had assumed your father would be back. Didn't think Winchester would leave his son laying unconscious and unprotected in a hospital bed."

I gave no reaction. I knew when someone was working to get a reaction out of me, and I made a point not to give the eldest Fenton exactly what he wanted. I didn't fail to register Sammy's flinch from behind the bulky hunter, whether it was from the words or the muscle spasms, I wasn't sure.

"I'm not going to lie, this whole thing has not gone down as planned. First, we grab you, only to find out that you weren't as alone as we thought you were, and before I even have time to drop that little necklace of yours on Sam's doorstep, your father has found you. Had I known the man was so nearby, I wouldn't have left your cellphone anywhere near that warehouse, so he couldn't have tracked it, and I would have left both the morons behind to keep a better eye on you." Hank stated reflectively, pacing casually in front of the cage, right in-between me and my little brother.

"Then I had to improvise. Like I said, I had eyes on you at the hospital, and I knew that sooner or later Sammy would show. Figured I would nab you all at once. Then your daddy had to go off and disappear before little brother made his appearance. And on top of that, you and the sasquatch here had to book it out of the hospital as soon as possible. I had thought I would have at least another day. I hope you didn't sign out AMA there kiddo, you don't want to be messing with a grade three concussion." Hank smiled as he spoke.

I knew he was expecting me to be frustrated or shocked that he had so much information, but if he had that third hunter watching me at the hospital, I supposed that explained how he knew so much.

"Found out you made your escape, was on my way into the city - taking the back-roads to save time - when I saw that car of yours cruising up the road. Shame I had to damage a perfectly good vehicle in order to nab you." Hank frowned.

"It was all worth it though. Dean, man, you should have seen the look on little Sammy's face when the truck was barrelling toward y'all. It was priceless." Darrell added, a malicious grin spread across his ugly mug.

I glared over at the smug sonuvabitch.

I didn't react to anyone going after me, but the second they started saying shit about Sam, mocking his pain and his fear; well **that** would always cause me to react, often in violence.

"Anyways, after all the confusion, we finally have you two boys, but now we can't find that blasted father of yours. I need John to be here before we can get the party started, so you can see my dilemma." Hank explained, before turning back toward Sam.

"But he doesn't know anything. He can't help you!" I insisted, anxiety and fear shooting through me as the hunter stopped directly in front of my brother.

I was ignored and Hank leaned down, sliding his thick fingers into my brothers hair and ripping Sam's head up so he was forced to look at him.

"Leave him alone!" I demanded, for the hundredth time.

Hank's aggressive actions were completely contradictory to the cool, smooth way he spoke.

"Now, Sam, I need you to do your part. Just tell me where your daddy is, and all of this can stop."

"Told you already, don't know. You need to get your hearing checked." Sam practically whispered.

My heart filled with pride. The kid was shaking, his broken shoulder and ribs were probably killing him, but he still had the energy and the stones to be as snarky as ever.

The pride soon gave way to rage and terror as I watched Darrel's face twist into a sick smile and the cattle prod was jammed into my kid brother's side, pressed up right against the spot where his shirt and sweater had risen up, right against his bare skin.

A horrible garbled sound was ripped from Sam's throat as his body flailed about uncontrollably.

"Stop! Gawd, please stop! _Please_!" I begged. Not caring about looking weak or pathetic, not caring that grovelling was _not_ the 'Winchester way'. I didn't give a shit about anything, all I wanted was for them to stop hurting Sammy.

I was granted my wish, but only for a brief moment. The prod was pulled away long enough for Sam to suck in a few strangled breaths, before it was roughly shoved back against his skin.

I was helpless to do anything but watch as my kid thrashed violently around on the ground.

"No! Stop. Please! Stop! I'll call my dad. I'll do _anything_ just stop. _Please_!" I cried out, my voice going hoarse from shouting, threatening, and begging.

My body shook with need.

The need to help Sam.

The need to save him.

The torture ended abruptly. Sam's body falling limply onto the cement floor, releasing an agonized sob. I watched as the kid closed his eyes, tears leaking out of them as he made an effort to curl in on himself, his trembling limbs not cooperating.

"Sammy." I called out softly, desperate to know if he was okay.

My brother's eyes opened just enough for hazel orbs, clouded with pain, to land on my face. One dimple appeared, in what I could only assume was a weak attempt at a smile, as he nodded his head ever-so-slightly.

It shouldn't have made me feel any better, it sure as hell wasn't the least bit convincing, but a part of my soul settled at my little brother's attempt at reassurance.

At least he was present enough to know that I needed him to communicate with me. To know that I needed him to be okay.

My view of my little brother was blocked by Hank as he placed himself in front of me.

I growled.

There was no better way to piss me off, than to get in between me and my kid brother.

"See, here's the problem, Dean. I've already tried calling your daddy, from your phone, the one you foolishly left behind at the warehouse." Hank said.

"Sorry, I was a little too busy being unconscious to remember to grab my cell. I'll do better next time." I sneered.

Hank released a dark chuckle at that, stepping a little to the left so I had a clear view of Sam. I tensed as Darrel stepped closer to my brother and reached down to grab hold of him.

"Don't you put your hands on him!" I snapped.

He paused long enough to send me a gleeful smile, before hoisting Sam up, forcing him back up onto his knees.

The young man cried out in alarm, gasping as he slumped forward, the only thing keeping him remotely upright was Darrel's hand in his hair.

I glared daggers at the man putting his hands on my brother, internally raging, but too afraid to release it, worried that Sam would pay the price.

"You want to share your bight ideas as to how you can get John on the phone? Or would you like us to continue questioning Sam over there?" Hank asked, twitching his head over his shoulder.

My eyes followed. Darrel had a harsh grasp of Sam, a hand gripping hard onto his broken shoulder and a rough hold of his hair, forcing his head back at an uncomfortable angle. The other hunter was holding the cattle prod a mere inch from my little brother's exposed throat.

I fought to restrain my fury, even as I wanted nothing more than to pound the life out of the bastards causing harm to Sammy.

"I can call him." I answered, my tone low and filled with ire.

"I told you we already tried that." Hank spat, his patience diminished.

"I can leave a message. He'll get back to me. He always does." I insisted.

The hunter appeared thoughtful, as I glanced nervously past him, checking on Sam.

I could see his thin frame shaking, his jaw clenching, he was no doubt fighting to hold back sounds of distress - not wanting to give his tormentors the satisfaction.

I focussed back on Hank with a steel gaze.

"How do I know you won't give John a warning, tell him in some secret way that something is going on?"

I inwardly frowned, I had been hoping that concern wouldn't pop into the man's mind, but I supposed I should have known better.

I glanced again at Sam, seeing tear tracks on his face, droplets slipping out from under his closed eyelids. Fuck, he was in so much pain.

My attention returned to Hank.

"I tell him whatever you want, word-for-word." I declared.

"No games?" Hank inquired.

I knew I was setting John up for a trap, and with the inability to warn him as well, but he was a good hunter and I'd have to trust that he would know something was out of place.

Besides, I had a little brother to look after.

"No games." I promised.

Hank studied me for a moment. I remained stiff with anger, my eyes boring into him.

"Collins, go grab his cell and a pen and paper." Hank ordered, turning to nod at the hunter who was holding the cattle prod frighteningly close to my little brother's neck.

He nodded obediently, handing the electric weapon to Hank as he made his way out of the cellar and up the stairs.

"Where'd you find the lapdog?" I questioned, a mocking smirk on my face, but I was secretly interested to know. Although, it didn't truly matter all that much, wherever he came from, whoever he was, I was going to rip his lungs out for touching my little brother.

"He's Darrel's second cousin." Hank replied distractedly.

"It's good you keep all the crazy in the family." I deadpanned.

Darrel snickered. Hank remained unamused as he seemed to be studying me.

"Can I help you?" I quirked an eyebrow, not understanding the scrutinizing look I was receiving.

"You put it back on." He observed, nodding his head as he stared at my chest.

I glanced down at myself, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. It took me a moment to realize the older Fenton was referring to my amulet.

"I wasn't sure just a little necklace would really be enough bait for Sam. But Darrell said it would be enough. He said you were obsessed with the ugly thing." Hank explained.

I shot a dark look Darrel's way, before catching Sam's anguished gaze and immediately softening my features; giving him a small reassuring smile, attempting not to cringe at the painful-looking position the kid was being forced into.

The man who answered to Collins came lumbering back down the stairs, switching the requested objects for the cattle prod and moving back to stand too near to my brother.

My fingers curled into fists as I watched the large hunter wave the weapon eerily close to Sam's face.

Before I was able to utter my next threat, Hank was holding a piece of paper up in front of my face.

"You call your father. When it gets to voice-mail, which I know it will, you read off this message word-for-word. You even think about trying anything. I let my son loose on your little brother."

I couldn't hold back a flinch at Hank's threat, my eyes tracking to Darrel and my insides boiling at the sight of his disturbingly ecstatic grin, as he pulled Sam's hair, forcing his head back even further.

My brother grunted in discomfort, but made not further sound, not even when Darrel's hand clenched impossibly harder around Sam's busted shoulder.

I dragged my attention back to Hank and nodded my head obediently, indicating that I would do as he wished.

He flipped my phone open and scanned through it, he must have been looking up my father's number in the contacts, because he handed it over to me already ringing.

He had to stretch his arm through the bars to reach mine, and for a split second I considered snapping the bastard's wrist, but my mind was quickly reminded of the two other hunters in the room who were holding my kid brother's life in their hands.

I took the phone and held it to my ear, waiting for the ringing to come to an end, and listening to the short familiar message that followed it. At the beep I looked up and read off the piece of paper being held in front of me, making a point to say it word-for-word in a manor that would appease the eldest Fenton.

When I had completed requesting that my father meet me at the following coordinates, claiming that I needed help with a hunt, I stretched out my arm and placed the phone into Hank's open palm.

"Short and simple, just the way your marine father always likes it." Hank grumbled, pocketing the phone and paper.

"No wonder him and Sammy never got along." Darrel chimed in.

I threw a dangerous look the older man's way, my jaw clenching in rage as I watched him sneer down at my kid brother.

"What's next Hank?"

I didn't bother glancing over at the third hunter, but I kept a careful watch on how close the weapon in his had was getting to Sammy.

"Now we wait. See if John takes the bait."

"And if he doesn't?" Darrel questioned.

"Then there is no point in dragging this game out any further."

Hank's vague answer did nothing to instill any confidence in me that my brother and I would get away, but right then I was simply too focused on getting Sam away from the vengeful men to worry about their future intentions.

"We're finished here for the moment." Hank declared, turning to face his son. "Put him back in the cage. And toss his brother the key to his cuffs."

"Why?" Darrel asked brashly.

"They are unnecessary with Sam in that condition." His father stated simply, as he made his way up the cellar steps.

His son huffed in disapproval, but made no further argument.

He finally released his aggressive grip of my brother's hair, Sam's head dropped, his chin touching his chest as he didn't possess the strength to hold it up on his own.

I was relieved when Collins finally pulled the cattle prod away from brother, but it was short lived when Darrel released Sam's shoulder, causing the kid to drop forward over his knees, his head nearly touching the ground.

"Awe that's cute, it looks like he's praying. At least it would if he wasn't quaking like a little girl."

I was about to jump to the young man's defense, when I heard a muffled rasp.

"Bite me."

I could just barely make out the words, but even in it's gruff, injured tone, I would never fail to recognize my kid brother's voice.

Darrel's foot swiftly connected with Sam's side, making him cry out in agony and try hard to curl in tighter around himself.

"Hey! I did what you assholes wanted. Leave my brother alone!" I roared.

"You know what the pathetic thing is, Sammy?" Darrel questioned, leaning down and grabbing hold of Sam's chin, forcing the kid to look up at him.

"That you kick like a girl?" Sam whispered.

I was equally parts proud of my brother's stubbornness, and terrified that his big mouth would get him killed.

Then again, that big mouth was probably my fault. Talking back hadn't been something Sam had just picked up on his own.

I hollered out more threats as Darrel's booted foot met my brother's side yet again. Sam gasped, trying and failing to turn his face away from the hunter's gleeful smirk.

"What's pathetic is that your big brother over there," Darrel nodded in my direction, "He would gladly trade places with your sorry ass if he could. He would let us cattle prod him all day, just to protect your useless backside."

"Shut the fuck up, Darrel!" I yelled vehemently.

My little brother already had messed up illusions in his head about being a burden, and letting me down; there was no way in hell I was going to allow some scumbag to prey on Sam's insecurities.

"Oh relax Dean, I'm not telling Sammy anything he doesn't already know."

"It's _Sam_." I growled, making the correction my brother was too weak to make himself.

Darrel shrugged and reached down, grabbing hold of Sam's shackled wrists and dragging him towards the cage.

He didn't care that the kid's face was being scraped by the cement all the way to the cell door.

He didn't care that Sam was gasping and crying out the entire time.

He didn't care that my little brother was trying desperately to free himself from his captor's unyielding grip.

He didn't fucking care that Sammy was suffering.

But I did.

And I promised myself to make the sonuvabitch pay for every second that my kid was hurting.

I moved over, getting as close to the cage door as I possibly could with my ankles still chained to the wall. Collins followed Darrel, stepping in front of him to unlock the cell and pull the door open. The Fenton son -the man I had ever intention of killing as painfully as possible when all this was over- hauled my little brother onto his feet, ignoring his scream of agony as he shoved him inside.

I dove forward, as far as I was able, and was just barely close enough to snatch Sam's sweater sleeve and pull him in my direction. The long body began to tumble in my direction, my brother's legs struggling for purchase before his knees gave out and he came crashing down. Thankfully by the point he went boneless, Sam was close enough for me to grab onto him. I flinched at his anguished gasp as I caught him under the arms and pulled him against my body, taking his weight before he hit the ground.

My arms were wrapped around Sam's chest as I took careful steps backwards, his feet dragging as I carried him to the far corner of our personal prison. I could feel the tremors running through him, his back shaking against my chest as I gently placed him on the ground. Sam instantly curled up onto his side, his eyes shut tight as he trembled.

I spun around in time to see Darrel carelessly tossing a key through the bars, before turning dismissively to march up the steps.

I picked they key up off the ground, glancing over my shoulder and Sam, and hating how intensely he was shaking. My eyes scanned the room and I found my leather jacket just outside of the cage, where it must have been discarded in the process of my brother being dragged to his torture.

I looked up at the sound of Collins locking the the cell door.

"Could you pass me that jacket?" I questioned gruffly, pointing in the direction of the desired clothing.

Collins pocketed the keys and looked over to the direction I indicated. He glanced back at me, seeming to be assessing the situation before shrugging and moving to grab the coat. He bunched it up and shoved it through the cage with enough force that it landed at my feet.

"Thanks." I ground out.

The hunter was already heading up the stairs. I had no illusions that he had done what I asked out of kindness, but rather because he saw no reason not to do it. The man seemed pretty devoid of all emotion, but at least he wasn't malicious, not like the Fenton men were.

I rushed back to Sam, my heart clenching as I heard him mewling and saw him curled up and trembling impossibly hard.

I dropped to my knees beside the young men and reached forward, intending to unfold him so I could get a good look at the damage that had been done.

Sam flinched violently at my touch, and I immediately removed my hands.

"Buddy, it's just me." I placated.

My brother gave no response.

"Sam, Sammy, open your eyes." I ordered quietly.

He stubbornly kept them closed.

I stretched out my hand and placed it on his ducked head, ignoring the flinch this time, and combing my fingers through the long mess of hair.

"It's just me. It's Dean, kiddo." I assured, squeezing the back of his neck and waiting for some sign of recognition.

Sam's eyelids cracked open, and watery hazel orbs peeked out at me.

"Dean?" He rasped tiredly.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm here." I replied, a twitch of a smile pulling at my lips as I met the kid's wandering gaze.

"You 'kay, Dean?" He inquired, painstakingly lifting his head up off the ground to get a better look at me.

"Dude, I'm fine." I huffed, shaking my head in frustration as I leaned over my little brother and pulled out the key Darrel had tossed in the cage.

I quickly unlocked the cuffs around my kid brother's wrists, frowning at the ruined skin underneath. I threw the offending restraints violently away, hearing them clang against the metal bars and clatter to the ground.

I cautiously angled Sam so that he could wiggle his one arm out from behind him, as I delicately guided his other arm around.

Sam keened at the torment, the movement too much for his broken shoulder. I winced in sympathy and helped him to settle his arm securely against his chest.

"Hurts De-" Sam whimpered.

It was like he was trying to shatter my heart. Like he knew that shortened version of my name, the one so often used in childhood, would put a lump in my throat, and fill my eyes with moisture.

"I know, buddy. I'm going to make it better, I promise. I just need you to let me get a look at you. Okay?"

Sam nodded slightly, not putting up a fight as I gently unbent his legs. My practiced hands skillfully trailed down each of his limbs, searching for damage. I inhaled sharply upon finding the burn marks on his ankles, softly swearing at the sight, knowing there would be a very real chance of infection.

I grabbed the water bottle, and tore off my flannel sleeve, soaking it.

"This is going to sting, Sam, but don't fight me. Alright?" I warned, placing a restraining forearm on his legs as I prepared to clean the burns.

"Kay." Sam whispered, trying to relax his constantly twitching muscles.

I gently dabbed at the wounds, carefully cleaning them out before tearing the strip of clothing in half and tying some around each ankle, hopefully preventing further grime from getting inside and from the metallic binds from rubbing painfully against the burnt skin.

I wished that those douchebag hunters had the decency to allow us to keep our socks and shoes on when they shackled us. Sam's feet were ice cold and I had no socks to give him.

I took a moment to rub some warmth back into both the kid's feet, before moving back up towards his torso. His sweater was more tattered than it had been when he was lugged from the truck down into the damn cellar. It was burnt in places and ripped in others, doing next to nothing to keep the young man warm.

I tugged the sweater and the thin t-shirt up, so I could get a clear view of Sam's chest.

There was a couple taser burns on his side right above the waistline of his jeans. They weren't as bad as the burns on is ankles, but I still ran some water over them, hoping to stave off any sort of infection.

Sam hissed as the cool liquid hit the damaged skin. I placed a palm gently on his abdomen, preventing him from twisting away as I finished.

"Sorry kiddo, nearly done." I declared, rinsing off the last wound before moving up.

I splayed my hand across chest, and slowly traced his ribs, when one of them shifted under my touch, Sam choked out a sob as he tried to contort out of my reach.

"Gaah!" He garbled.

"No,no. Buddy, don't move. I'm sorry, Sammy. But I'm nearly finished, okay? Just please don't move." I requested, firmly holding Sam into place, waiting for him to stop struggling.

He was breathing in stutters, his thin fingers skimming across the ground before clumsily landing on my leg and working to get a grip of my jeans.

I placed my hand on his and folded his fingers around the hem of my shirt, allowing him to hold on as my attention shifted back to his hurting body.

Sam eventually halted his conscious movements, but his muscles were still quivering, they hadn't stopped since he was first tased.

I checked the rest of his ribs, the two broken ones being the only ones that gave us trouble, but there were dark bruises already forming where Darrel's shoe had connected.

I grimaced, knowing from experience what pain my brother would be in, and just imagining how the shivers racking his thin frame would only cause it to escalate.

I tugged Sam's sweater back into place, and wrapped the jacket around him, softly apologizing as he hissed from the pain of being maneuvered into the coat.

My little brother released a heart-wrenching sob as I slid the jacket lightly over his broken shoulder. I cringed and palmed his cheek in apology before pulling the coat closed around him.

"There you go, buddy." I muttered quietly, smoothing his unruly bangs off to the side of his face as I stared down, waiting for those wondering hazel eyes to find me. Once they did, I swiftly thumbed away the tears that had leaked out of them, as Sam sniffed and did his best to gather his composure.

"You want to sit up?" I asked. "It might takes some of the pressure off your ribs and shoulder if we can get you leaning up against the wall."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, clearly not eager to move about, but eventually nodding, the idea of being in less pain was not doubt enticing at that point.

"Alright, let's get you up."

I put one arm under Sam's good shoulder and the other on his left hip, gripping the waistband of his jeans and using it to help slide him up and get him set against the wall.

Sam placed his still-vibrating fingers on my arms and tried to hold onto me through the rush of movement.

I was as careful as possible, but my brother still had to bite off a gasp as I got him into a seated position.

I pressed my palm against his collarbone to keep him from tipping over as I quickly seated myself beside him, planting my body in between Sam and the entrance to the cage. The other side of my brother was blocked by the wall, as was his back; he was as protected as he could be in our current environment.

Sam fumbled around, fighting to get his right arm to stabilize his left, to keep it from straining his broken shoulder.

"Here man, I got it." I said, swatting at Sam's uncoordinated hands and tucking his left arm against his chest, sliding it partially inside of his right sleeve to keep it immobile and hopefully prevent it from further aggravating his injury.

"Better?" I questioned.

"Much." Sam nodded.

I scowled as I watched him shiver.

"You cold? Or is it just your muscles spazzing out?" I asked softly, knowing that the constant tasing would have strained the hell out of the kid's muscles and it would probably take days for them to stop twitching; while also knowing that it was chilly in the basement and the kid was too skinny and too injured to fight off the cold.

"Both." Sam rasped, too weak to lie to me.

I nodded, accepting the information and immediately looking for a solution.

"Alright, just let me shift you a little."

Sam instantly tensed at the request.

"It's okay, I've got you. I won't hurt you." I vowed.

My little brother nodded his consent and became pliant, allowing me to lean him forward and slide myself more behind him.

I gently tugged him, careful not to come into contact with his shoulder, and pulled him up against me so his torso was lined up with mine and his head came to rest against my collarbone.

Sam twitched around a little to get comfortable before sighing softly.

"Better?" I inquired.

"Yes." Sam huffed.

"Good."

We sat there for a few moments, me bringing my arms around my brother. I wrapped one over Sam's good shoulder, and another under his injured one, helping to support it while hold him tighter, hoping to stop the shivers, at least the ones that were a result of the cool damp cellar.

"You're warm." Sam whispered contently.

I smiled softly. The kid's sensors were clearly down, but the reasons for that broke my heart, so I would be sure not to take advantage of the present opportunity.

"You shuldn't hav called Dad." Sam slurred, hissing as his spine contorted due to a particularly violent muscle spasm.

I tightened my hold, willing the tremors to stop, but knowing that would take a great deal more time.

"Don't worry about Dad, Sam. He's a grown ass man, he can take care of himself." I stated. I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about my father, he had always been a very capable man. Besides, at the current time, I was more concerned about the little brother hurt and trembling in my arms.

My priority number one.

"He might not even get the message." Sam added.

I couldn't contradict him. We both knew our dad well enough to know that he could be deep into a case by now, and checking his messages would be very near the bottom of his to-do list.

"When I talked to him last he said he'd call you in a couple days." Sam recalled.

"Well, we both know a couple means something completely different to John Winchester than it does to the rest of the world." I pointed out.

"No kidding, a couple laps, a couple minutes-"

"A couple chicken wings."

Sam chuckled in reply, inhaling sharply as the expression of amusement caused him physical pain.

"Don't make me laugh." He grumbled.

"No promises, dude." I snickered softly.

I utilized the moments distraction to ease a fear that had been growing in my gut for awhile.

I pressed my fingers against Sam's neck for a moment, monitoring his pulse, while also brushing his hair back, to disguise the purpose of my action.

It didn't work.

"I'm fine, Dean. Electric current in a cattle prod isn't strong enough to do heart damage." He recited, his voice would have almost sounded like his smart-ass self if it wasn't so hoarse.

"Yeah well. It's not supposed to be used on humans, and it's definitely not supposed to be used that many times." I bit out, my rage rising as images of my silently screaming, convulsing little brother assaulted my mind.

I was calmed by the clumsy fingers that came in contact with the hand I had moved down to rest against Sam's chest. He forced his twitching fingers around my wrist and clenched it convulsively, whether in comfort of because of the recovering muscles, I wasn't sure. Either way, the reassuring touch settled my anger, forcing it down inside myself where it would wait to rise again, hopefully at a time when Darrel's fugly mug was in reach.

I glanced down as I felt the same unsteady fingers travel up my arm, only stopping when they brushed the torn remnants of what was left of my sleeve.

"What happened to your shirt?" Sam queried.

The question didn't surprise me. Sam had been in an all-encompassing degree of agony when I'd been tending to his injuries.

I also knew my kid brother well enough to know that he would not be happy that I had given him another piece of my clothing, even if it was only a sleeve.

"Don't worry about it."

Sam huffed in frustration, sounding much like his teenage self.

"You're going to get cold." He mumbled.

His thin fingers rubbing clumsily up and down my arm, in - what I assumed to be - an attempt to generate warmth.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face, and the way my heart swelled at the simple action.

The kid had been tasered way too many fucking times, he was burnt, cold, tired, and probably starving...and the stupid little bitch was worried about me possibly feeling a little chilly.

"You just said I was warm." I reminded him.

"That's cause you were angry. Sometimes I think your blood literally boils." Sam mentioned thoughtfully.

I scrunched my eyebrows, wondering how the hell the kid knew that my body temperature tended to rise with my temper. Then again, he had always been ridiculously attentive, even as a young child.

"Sorry for scaring you." Sam added softly.

I didn't bother denying the fear that had run rampant through my body, it wasn't like it hadn't been apparent.

"Not your fault, Sammy." I declared, frowning at the aggressive tremors that refused to leave my kid be.

I rested my chin on his shaggy head.

"Just don't do it again." I whispered pleadingly, hating the way my voice betrayed me as it cracked.

"I'll try not to. Hope I don't have to." He rasped, his head turning so his forehead was pressing against my neck as he exhaled slow deep breath and relaxed against me.

I tensed, my grip on my brother becoming impossibly tighter, the fear that Sam would have to go through the same thing again feeling entirely too possible.

"I'm okay, De. I promise." He slurred tiredly, clenching his fingers around my wrist and shifting his legs closer so they knocked against mine.

_He_ was comforting _me_.

What the hell did I do to deserve a little brother like Sam?

A brother who was concerned for me, even after he himself had been tortured.

A brother who worried about being a burden, or being unfair to me, when he had never in his life been either.

A brother who strived to protect me even though that was my damn job.

A brother who never blamed me even when I failed him.

A brother who comforted me when he was the one in pain.

A brother I would do _anything_ to protect.

"I know, Sammy." I said, knowing he was awaiting an answer.

He wasn't okay, but he would be.

I would make sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Sorry it took so long babes. If it's any consolation, it's a long-ass chapter packed full of all that good stuff I know you babes love!

* * *

I hurt all over.

My body aching from where it had smacked against the concrete ground, my muscles screaming from having been abused, my ribs and shoulder throbbing in discomfort, and various spots stinging from where I figured I had been burned.

The only thing that was

lessening the agony I was feeling, were the strong arms wrapped around me, holding me steady against against a firm frame.

Dean.

I wanted to role my eyes at the girlishness of it all, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything except release long sigh, trying to force my body to relax and stop shaking without my permission.

Every contorting limb and spasming muscle was met by my brother tightening his grip, never to a painful degree; but simply offering more pressure, more warmth, and more security. It was as if Dean thought he could squeeze the shakes right out of me.

I chortled in amusement with my own thoughts.

"What's so funny?" Dean questioned, his head ducking to the side so he could see my face and I could see his.

"S'nothing." I dismissed, having no intention of mocking his efforts to make things better for me, especially seeing as how they actually worked quite well.

"Liar." He accused, his eyebrows up as he waited for the truth.

I stared at him, seeing the question in his eyes and knowing he was not going to let it go.

"If I had known sitting up meant we were going to cuddle, I would have stayed laid out on the floor." I joked.

My brother chuckled, his chest vibrating against my back.

"Really?" He tested a second later.

I left a moment to think, deciding whether to be honest or not, and soon realized I was far too exhausted to keep up the charade.

"No." I sulked.

Dean snickered in response, and dropped his chin back on top of my head.

"Bitch." He stated, I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Jerk." I threw back.

My brother playfully knocked his knee against one of mine, causing me to hiss as my ankle shifted, the burn making itself known.

"Oh, shit. Sam, I'm sorry. Fuck, I forgot." Dean swore. I could tell he wanted to check on my burns, but I tightened my grip on his wrist to keep him from moving. There was nothing he could do and I really had no desire to be jostled about.

"It's fine. Dean, I'm fine." I assured him, breathing slow and steady to further prove my point.

I wouldn't lie and say the fingers that began carding through my hair didn't provide a certain level of comfort, actually to be honest, I found them tremendously soothing. The way Dean softly smoothed my tangled locks was a far cry from the manner in which the Fenton men had nearly ripped them out in the process of forcing my head into uncomfortable positions, like I was a freakin puppet or something.

"Sorry kiddo." Dean repeated.

"Dude, I'm fine. Stop apologizing. It was an accident." I dismissed.

"It was asinine." He muttered, berating himself in a way I did not approve of.

"Shut-up. It was a mistake. Stop being such a drama-queen." I admonished with an eye-roll.

Dean released a surprised snort in reply.

"Yeah, I'm the drama-queen." He mocked.

I smiled softly, content that my brother was more relaxed, his grip on me easing a little as his concern faded a fraction.

"Here, you want some water?" Dean offered softly after a moment.

"Sure." I agreed, my throat raw and dry from all the gasping and screaming I had done. Dean's was much the same, due to all the shouting and threatening in which he had partaken.

I bit down hard on my lip, to keep any sounds of discomfort from being released as my brother shifted to reach for the water bottle.

I caught sight of it when he brought it up to my lips, I didn't even bother trying to reach for it, the trembling grip I had on Dean's wrist was enough to tell me I wouldn't be able to hold the damn thing steady anyways. I quickly registered the limited amount of liquid within the approaching bottle, making a mental calculation as to how much I could have so that there was still at least half left for Dean.

I took a few quick sips before turning my head away.

"Come on Sammy, a little more." Dean urged softly.

I shook my head stubbornly, unwilling to take my brother's share.

"It's not that much, buddy. Just a few more sips." He encouraged, palming my cheek in an effort to direct my face back towards the beverage.

Dean wasn't understanding my reasons for refusal, but that was fine.

"No more." I declared, my voice hard, making it clear I would not be altering my decision.

Dean grumbled in frustration before taking the bottle away. He was about to twist the cap back on it before I stopped him.

"You need some." I insisted, reaching out, unable to coordinate my twitching fingers long enough to actually wrap them around the bottle. Instead I simply knocked my knuckles lightly against it, bumping it up to the older man's mouth.

"I'm good, Sam." He stated.

I frowned.

"No, you're not. You're throat is just as wrecked as mine. I can hear it. Finish it off." I argued, nudging at the bottle again and slightly shifting my position so I could get a better view of Dean's face.

He was scowling, but staring at the water and - though he would never admit it - I could see the wanting in his gaze.

"Seriously. Drink it. I'm fine." I assured him, knowing it was what he would have to believe before he finished the last of our resources.

Upon noticing his uncertain expression, I pushed one more time.

"Please, Dean."

It was a last ditch effort and I knew that if it didn't work, nothing would.

He didn't look happy about it, but after a moment's thought he swiftly drained the remainder of the bottle's contents, tossing it to the side when he was finished.

I inwardly applauded my menial success and dropped my head back against Dean's collarbone, no longer angling to see his expression and instead staring dimly out at the dull cellar.

I glanced at the window up in the corner, frowning when I realized there was bright light shining through it. When I had last gazed out the tiny pane of glass, the light had been fading. An entire night had passed by.

"It's morning." I observed aloud.

I felt Dean's chin shift atop my head as his eyes, presumably, were directed to the same location as my own.

"That was fast." He commented, talking more to himself than me. Apparently I hadn't been the only one who hadn't been keeping track.

"Time flies when you're being tortured." I mumbled, not truly realizing what I had said until it reached my ears.

I could feel Dean's body go tense against my back, his arms stiff around me.

I internally berated myself for upsetting my brother with my careless declarations.

"Dean-"

"That's not fucking funny." Dean snapped.

"I didn't-"

"Shut up, Sam."

I wasn't surprised by the anger I detected in his tone, I never was with Dean. Anger was his go-to emotion, it had been as long as I could remember. Whenever he had been hurt, or whenever he was frightened or concerned, it almost always came out as anger. I had learned early on that it was a defense mechanism and never took offense to it, especially because my brother was often tremendously apologetic if his frustration was ever unjustly aimed in my direction. I could remember that Christmas he snapped at me for asking about the family business...and asking about mom. I also recalled his apologetic return to the motel room and his attempts to make everything better.

Anger was armour for Dean, I had understood that for quite sometime, and I knew exactly how to get past it.

"Dean?"

I could feel my brother's jaw clenching as his head pressed against mine.

"What?" He ground out.

"I'm sorry." I declared softly.

If there was no attack, if there was no hurt, there was no need for the armour.

I could practically hear Dean thinking, I pushed back closer to him and clenched the fingers that I had wrapped around his wrist. It may not have seemed like much, but with the amount of conscious effort it entailed, it was all I had to offer at that moment.

It was a physical apology, to accompany the verbal one.

Dean recognized it as just that, and I felt him rub my chest gently, as his jaw unclenched.

"I know, Sammy." He mumbled softly.

I took that as the forgiveness it was and smiled.

The short moment of solace ended abruptly as the muscles in my side spasmed violently, causing my broken shoulder to jerk out of place, setting fire to the nerves all over my left side.

"Fuuck!" I screeched, my cry sounding foreign to my own ears as my body arched and my head slammed back against Dean's collarbone.

"Shit! Keep still, Sam. Just try not to move, buddy, you're going to make it worse." My brother encouraged, his arm's stabilizing me as I fought to re-gain control of my movements.

I grit my teeth as I waited for the pain to subside.

"I don't understand." I ground out, more to myself then Dean.

"Don't understand what?" He questioned, his one hand keeping me steady against him as the other rubbed comfortingly up and down my chest.

"Why my shoulder hurts so bad." I finished, my harsh breathing beginning to ease as the agony faded away to a duller ache.

"It's broken. It's supposed to hurt." Dean answered simply.

I frowned, because he wasn't getting it.

"I've had broken bones before, lots."

I didn't need to go into detail, I had no doubt that my brother probably knew better than I did just how many bones I had snapped.

"But none of them ever hurt like this." I bit out, burrowing further inside my brother's jacket in a subconscious attempt to escape the cold along with the physical anguish.

Dean sighed in frustration, and I knew that if I had had the energy to angle to see his face, I would have recognized the furious, yet sympathetic expression it was likely sporting.

"I don't know, buddy. The bone snapped, and it has been constantly aggravated ever since. Who knows what could be wrong with it by this point." He answered.

I regretted voicing my pain, upon hearing helpless tone in my brother's voice.

"You should be in a fucking hospital, not a damn dungeon."

And there was that anger again, making it's scheduled return.

I sighed tiredly, relieved that my muscles seemed to be relaxing, the spasms occurring fewer and further between.

"I'm alright, Dean." I assured.

He grunted in obvious disagreement and sounded as though he were about to voice his objection, when the squeal of the basement door hinges sounded through the small room.

Dean's body went rigid, and I could practically feel his internal fight about whether to move and stand in front of me like he had been doing since we were captured, or stay in place behind me and keep me from having to experience the pain that would accompany any form of movement.

I was going to allow Dean to make his decision, but the fire that had torn through my shoulder a moment ago was far too present a memory, so I softly voiced my request.

"Stay, please." I whispered, knowing Dean would understand my soft petition.

He seemed hesitant, but eventually leaned back against the wall.

"I'm not going anywhere." He declared quietly, still tense, but evidently agreeing to remain in place, for now.

I had no doubt that if whoever was currently stomping down those steps was going to enter the cage and approach us, that Dean would immediately slide out from behind me and step in front.

"Awe, look. You're cuddling." Darrel jeered as he stepped in front of the cage.

I felt Dean's growl vibrate against the back of my head and I could only imagine the dark look that had likely fallen upon his face.

If Darrel knew what was good for him, he would can-it.

Apparently the older man had no such knowledge.

"Never knew you were such a care-bear, Dean."

I could feel my brother's body thrumming with need, need to beat Darrel's face in, but he fought it off and even managed to remain silent.

Until Darrel's next comment, anyways.

"Guess you can't help it with that little pissant of a brother you have." He stated, sneering down at me, giving me a look as though I hadn't earned the right to draw in air.

Darrel could mock Dean all he wanted, and my brother would remain stoic, but turning his cruel jokes to me...well the man might as well have signed his own death certificate.

Not that Darrel hadn't already done that by participating in my torture.

"You shut your fucking mouth, you sonuvabitch, or I'll shut it for you." Dean seethed.

I felt him shifting against my back, and I placed a hand on his leg, hoping that it would be enough to keep him seated.

I really didn't want to be jostle around, but more than that, I didn't want Dean getting into a fight with the man with the taser, because I was in no condition to have his back. In my current situation I was pretty sure I wouldn't even manage standing unassisted. As long as I remained in between the two men, Dean was safe. Keeping him behind me was truly the only way I could think to protect my older brother in my weakened state.

Dean got my hint and thankfully obliged, but he remained tense with a barely contained fury.

Darrel stood where he was, eyeing Dean and I with seemingly disinterested gaze, until a delighted sneer spread across his ugly mug.

"Awe, little Sammy Winchester pissed himself."

I glanced down at myself and cringed.

He was right. I hadn't noticed, but my jeans were soaked though at the crotch, and now that I was paying attention I could smell the stench of urine past the musky scent of the cellar. It must have happened while I was being tased, and I hadn't noticed.

I immediately tried to pull away from Dean, not wanting to get any of the mess onto him or force him to sit so close to the nasty odour.

But Dean's arms tightening around me, stopping my movement.

"Don't you dare." He whispered directly into my ear.

"But-" I began to mutter, subconsciously shifting about and bringing my knees up, as though hiding the stain would make it disappear.

"But nothing. You were electrocuted, you couldn't control it. It's fine. Doesn't bother me." Dean declared, with so much ease and confidence that I couldn't help but completely believe him.

That didn't mean it wasn't embarrassing though.

"Keep still, you're going hurt yourself." Dean ordered, hunching forward to be further over top of me, no doubt trying to block me from Darrel's view.

"But-

"I told you it doesn't bother me. Nothing that won't wash off."

"But I don't have any other pants." I whispered, turning towards Dean as I bit down on my bottom lip, feeling shame colour my face.

"I'd bring you something clear to wear Sammy, but I don't want to. I'd rather leave you sitting in your own mess." Darrel declared gleefully.

"Shurt your fucking mouth." Dean snapped.

I ignored the pain and my weary muscles, forcing my legs to curl up closer to my chest and angling further into Dean's chest.

I didn't care that I was quite literally trying to hide against my big brother. I was embarrassed, hurt, and ashamed, why not add pathetic to the list?

Thankfully, Dean didn't take issue with my petulant behaviour, he simply tugged me impossibly closer to him and whispered "It's alight" quietly into my hair.

And for just a brief moment, I felt safe and comforted. I had almost forgotten about Darrel's presence until he opened his stupid mouth again.

"Holy fuck this is sad. I mean, wow! How the hell do you put up with this shit, Dean? James was a total wuss, but even he wasn't this - this worthless. No wonder your Dad chucked him out of the house."

I flinched at the comment.

Normally insults tossed at me by malicious assholes didn't have enough power to even make me blink, but I had aways had a problem with worth, especially when it came to my place in my family and my relationship with my father.

I regretted my display of injury as I heard a feral growl come from Dean and knew that his anger had escalated.

"Okay, you know what, jackass, I've had it." Dean ground out, ignoring my quiet protests as he untangled himself from me, doing his best to keep from jostling my injuries.

"Dean, don't. He's not worth it." I said, reaching up with still-shaking fingers and gripping onto my brother's shirt as he carefully eased me back against the wall and tugged his jacket further around me.

"It's fine, dude. I'm just gonna to have a nice chat with the scumbag over there. I'm not going anywhere." He stated, gently squeezing the back of my neck before tugging out of my grip and making his way toward Darrel.

The chain around Dean's ankle kept him from getting right up to the bars, but he went as close as he could.

"Look asshat, I get that you had issues with your brother. I don't know why the hell you hated James so much, but don't you _dare_ dump all your bullshit on me and Sam."

My older brother was practically seething by the end, utilizing the dangerous tone he often took on when I was being threatened.

Darrel remained astoundingly silent, but his gaze was no longer as playful as it had been.

"You were a crap brother. You were constantly jabbing at James, making the kid feel like garbage. And that's just what I got out of knowing you for a couple weeks. So I would imagine there was a hell of a lot more scummy shit you did to your little brother. But that's on you. Treating James the way you did is something you get to regret the rest of your life. Don't think for one fucking minute that I will ever stand by and let you do the same thing to _my_ kid brother."

Dean's voice and body language were screaming 'possessive' at that moment. I often feigned annoyance as a child when my brother would get this way, but the truth was, I had never felt safer, and that hadn't changed with age.

I was worried for Dean though, as I watched Darrell's expression darken with every word my brother spoke. I feared that perhaps Dean would ignite the violent anger in the older man, and get himself hurt.

"Dean." I called out, a warning in my tone.

My brother stretched his arm out behind him, one finger up and pointed toward me, the classic sign for 'give me a minute Sammy', that I had seen hundreds of times before.

I rolled my eyes, but remained obediently silent.

"You fucked up with James. And I don't know how the hell you sleep at night. But keep your bullshit away from us. Sam is _worth_ more than you and me combined! And if you _ever_ suggest otherwise I will rip your lungs out!"

I smirked at the familiar threat.

"You think he'd do the same for you?" Darrel glowered.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"You think he'd do half the shit for you that you do for him? You think he'd 'rip someone's lungs out' for you?"

I was all ears now, struggling to sit up straighter and paying close attention to Dean's response, because in all honesty, Darrel wasn't the only one that thought the Winchester brotherhood was lopsided. I had always been fully aware that Dean gave more to me, that he did more for him, that he sacrificed more for me than I ever had for him; maybe more than I ever even could do for him. But I would never stop trying, and I really hoped that Dean knew that.

"Dam right, he would." Dean declared confidently.

I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding, upon hearing my brother's response. I suppose a part of me had been worried that maybe Dean didn't understand just how much I cared about him, how much I would do for him. The fact that he didn't even question it, not even after I had gone off to Stanford, was tremendously reassuring.

That moment of satisfaction was fleeting, ending abruptly at Darrel's next action.

"Well let's find out, shall we."

Before I had time to imagine what the short phrase implied, the older hunter pulled a handgun out from the waistband of his jeans, and fired it.

"Dean!" I cried out, just in time to watch my brother drop unceremoniously to the floor.

I ignored the pain in my shoulder as I scrambled forward, my limbs clumsy and struggling to cooperate as I reached Dean and did my best to uncurl him.

I scanned his body, focusing on the red stain that was blossoming across his right hip.

Dean was stunned for a short moment, but quickly snapped out of it and - like the hunter he was trained to be - went into fight mode.

Or, more common for Dean, protective mode.

"Get back, Sam! Get behind me." He ordered as he worked to sit up and push my hands off of him.

"Stop it! Lie still, Dean." I barked.

"Sam! He's got a gun. Get your ass behind me!" My brother shouted, shaking my shoulders, as if I was the one who was confused.

"Dude, if he wanted to kill me, he could have done it like a dozen times by now." I pointed out, smacked Dean's hands away so I could get a clear view of his wound.

"Or more." Darrel pointed out from the other side of the cage.

Dean released a vile string of curses at the older man, but I ignored them both as I concentrated on the hole in my brother's side.

I was relieved to see the bullet had gone straight through. The bleeding was bad, but not bad enough for me to be concerned that the bullet had hit anything significant. It was clear that the hunter hadn't wanted to kill Dean, because he would have gone for centre mass, instead of the edge of his side, avoiding all his organs.

I gritted my teeth, enraged that Darrel seemed to be playing some sort of game, one that involved putting a bullet in my brother and endangering his life.

"I'm alright, Sam." Dean assured me in a hushed voice, clearly he had detected my growing anger, the same way I could always sense his.

I nodded, giving him a tight smile before sliding out of the jacket and tugging off my sweater. Something that was far easier to do when I didn't have a broken shoulder.

"Whoah, hold up! What the hell are you doing?" Dean snapped, as he reached up to help me ease the clothing over my broken joint.

I ignored my brother's protests as I began to pull my shirt off as well, hissing at the agony it caused as it slid across my various wounds, but continuing on just the same.

I bunched up the fabric and pressed it against Dean's side.

"Fuck." He swore as I pushed on the wound.

I sent him an apologetic look before using my good arm to place pressure on the injury, doing my best to stop the bleeding.

"What the hell is your deal, Darrel?" Dean shouted out, angling his head so he could see around me to the larger man looming in the background.

"Let's just call it an experiment. Sam, come here."

I looked up at the order, turning to stare over my shoulder.

"What?" I questioned in confusion.

"Come to the door." Darrel demanded, his voice hard and cold like ice, sending shivers up my spine, that or I was just cold from being shirtless in the chilly basement.

"Sam's not going anywhere." Dean grunted. I felt his clammy fingers wrap around my arm, holding tight.

"Why? What do you want?" I inquired.

"Sam." Dean ground out.

I payed him no mind, my hand keeping pressure on the wound, as my eyes tracked Darrel over toward the cage entrance.

"It's not about what _I_ want. If _you_ don't want another hole in that brother of yours, you'll get your ass over here."

For added affect, Darrel raised his gun and aimed it directly at Dean. I shifted on my knees to cover more of his brother.

"You can try and block him all you want. I'll put another bullet in him if I want to, even if I need to come in there to do it." He said, nodding into the cage.

I stiffened, seeing the conviction in Darrel's eyes and knowing that he wasn't playing around.

"Sam, don't." Dean bit out, panting as he tried to sit up and get into my face.

I knew that if Dean could have, that if he had the time and the strength, he would have stopped me; and he would have done whatever he could, even knocking me out cold if he had to. But Dean couldn't. He could bared sit up, and the pain and shock from the bullet were sapping his strength.

It killed me to leave my brother lying bleeding and defenseless on the floor.

"Time is ticking, Sammy-boy."

I grit my teeth at the nickname.

"Just give me a minute, okay? One minute, please." I added belatedly, not wanting to be desperate, but willing to beg if I needed to.

Darrel sent me a curious look, but nodded.

I stumbled to my feet, forcing my legs to hold me as I hooked my one good arm across Dean's chest and dragged him back toward the wall.

I felt him tense in pain, but the older man remained stoically silent as I propped him up against the cement surface and then moved back to grab the jacket off the floor.

My muscles quivered and I went down to my knees for a moment, ignoring Darrel's chuckle, but focusing in on Dean's call and forcing myself back into movement.

"Sam. Don't do this." Dean ordered, reaching up to grip my arm as I draped the coat over him, hoping to stave off shock.

I tried my best to give him a reassuring look, forcing a smile and nodding down at him.

I took his one hand off my arm, and placed it on the shirt I had balled up against his seeping wound.

"Keep pressure on that." I instructed softly, patting his chest and dodging the hand that shot out, with the intention to stop me.

"Be right back." I promised softly, my heart aching at the pleading eyes staring up at me.

"Sammy."

I turned away, fighting every single instinct I had that was telling me to turn back to Dean when he called my name.

I had to maintain one hand on the wall to keep myself on my feet as I made my way across the cage.

I cringed at Darrel's ecstatic expression. He was enjoying this, enjoying that he could control me.

With the gun still trained on Dean, the older hunter tugged out the keys and unlocked the gate, pulling it open.

I had barely exited the cell before I was pistol-whipped across the face. Hearing Dean hollering my name as I dropped to the floor, unable to even take a breath before Darrel grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled it hard until I was up on my knees. Only then did he lean down toward me and begin to speak.

"This is how things are going to work. My dad won't be back for another hour, and you are going to occupy me until then."

I grimaced, knowing his idea of entertainment would be excessively violent.

"If you bore me at any point, I will go see how Dean likes having handfuls of salt shoved into his bullet wound, and then maybe have some fun with him and that taser that you love so much, I'll see if I can get him to piss himself like you did."

I glared up at my captor, hating him more with every threat he uttered against my brother.

"Don't you fucking touch him!"

I watched as Darrel turned to the right, smiling at my brother.

"Don't worry, Dean, I won't use any toys. It will be a fair fight. Hell, I'll even give Sam an out."

I heard chains rattle and glanced over to see Dean limping his way as close to us as he could get until his bindings forced him to a halt. He was in pain and wavering on his feet, still holding my shirt against his side, but the jacket was back on the floor as he glowered at Darrel.

Dean's look of fury was wasted on the hunter though, because his attention was already back on me.

"If it becomes too much, Sam, all you have to do is say 'I give up' and I will leave you be and go occupy myself with your brother instead."

I put every ounce of defiance I had into my eyes, portraying clear as day that there was no way in hell that I would send the bastard over to Dean.

"We'll see." Darrel chuckled, apparently getting my message loud and clear.

And then it began.

I wasn't even given two seconds to climb up off of the ground before Darrel used the grip he still had on my hair to force my head hard into his knee.

I did my best to fight against the haze that filled my pounding head, and used my right arm to deflect the next blow I could barely see coming for my face. I caught Darrel's hand in mine and twisted around, feeling a drop of satisfaction upon hearing him cry out. The injured man wrenched himself from my grip, but took a couple steps back, allowing me a short moment of reprieve to climb to my feet.

I kept my left arm wrapped around my chest, doing the best I could to keep my broken shoulder immobile as I set my stance and prepared for the a fight.

Darrel came at me quickly, wasting no time, striking out the moment he was in rage. The man was large and his limbs were long and powerful, but he was far too eager to be strategic and I could spot the swing and exactly where it was intended to land, from a mile away.

I ducked, avoiding the punch, but nearly losing my balance in the process. I blocked the next approaching hit with my forearm, and stepped back as Darrel's momentum set him barrelling forward into the wall.

I did my best to focus on what I was doing, but couldn't help but ignore Dean's cheer from the sidelines.

I smirked and Darrel scowled at my brother's commentary, while we circled each other. As I could have predicted, it wasn't long before the hunter's impatience overcame him and he came charging at me again.

Had I been in full fighting form, I would have been able to take my opponent down without a problem, regardless of him being twice my size in the muscle and weight department. Unfortunately, I was far from fighting form. My muscles were still seizing and weak from the torment they had been put through. My shoulder wouldn't stop sending sears of pain through my body with every movement. My skull was pounding on beat with my heart, and I could feel the busted ribs in my chest shifting every couple seconds. So after blocking four more hits in a row, it was not surprise when one got through my meagre defences and slammed into my gut. I reached out to support myself against the wall as the air was forced from my body. I kept an arm out to fend off further attacks, striking out hard and hearing the satisfying crack as my fist connected with my opponent's nose.

Darrel stumbled back, his hand going up to his face as blood began to pour out of his nostrils. I knew that if I were to look over at Dean, I would likely see him beaming with pride, but I had to stay focused on the man I was fighting, because I could practically see his rage growing.

Darrel hadn't really been angry yet. He had been cocky and cruel, and as we fought he displayed frustration when I would dodge his jabs, but he hadn't been truly angry with me...until that moment.

I tensed, ready for the thoughtless rage I expected to come my way.

Which it did.

I dodged Darrel's swing at my face, predicting his move, knowing that he would want to break my nose the same way I had his. A lifetime of training obviously hadn't faded after my time at Stanford, because the second after I was ducking away from the approaching fish, I deftly blocked the kick Darrel had aimed at my groin...yup...he was pissed.

We went on like that for some time. Me doing my best to block or dodge the blows, while landing a couple every few minutes. Darrel's rage mounting with each and every failed attack.

I was doing my best to keep my left side angled as far from the hunter as possible, knowing that he would do his best to exploit my busted should for the weakness it was. And he did. He charged into me hard, shoving me back against the wall before I had time to protect my shoulder. I couldn't stop the scream that tore from my throat as the broken limb was rammed into the unyielding concrete.

My knees buckled in pain, but Darrel's merciless hold kept me vertical against the wall. His face was mere inches from mine, as he sneered. For a moment my body was in too much agony to function, and Darrel used that to his advantage. He kept me against the wall with his forearm pressing against my chest, as his other hand came up to wrap around my throat.

Before I even had the time or the capability to register what was happening, my air was cut off.

I opened my mouth wide, as though I would somehow magically be able to lure the oxygen into my lungs. I began to fight back, but my movements were uncoordinated as my body was deprived of one of its most basic necessities.

I could just barely register my name being shouted and I knew it was Dean.

A sense of complete clarity overcame the hazy fog that was impeding on my mind.

Dean was going to watch me die.

He was going to forever have to carry that with him.

He was going to forever blame himself for letting it happen.

And worst of all, he was going to be stuck in this godforsaken cellar alone.

Those seemingly simple glimpses of reality were all I needed to force my broken body into action.

Even as my vision began to grey, I forced my legs to lock underneath me, before kneeing up and out viciously, not even sure I made a connection until I watched Darrel's eyes go wide and felt him release me.

I crumpled to the ground, gasping in breath after breath, feeling as though I would never be able to take in a sufficient amount of air.

I hadn't filled my lungs more than a couple times before a vicious kick was delivered to shoulder. I choked out a cry and tried to crawl away, needing just a moment's reprieve, so I could gather myself up and continue the fight.

But Darrel was not that generous.

He grabbed hold of my shin and reefed on it harder than I imagined a human was able to. I both felt and heard the joint popping out of place, shouting in agony as Darrel proceeded to drag me across the floor with the dislocated limb.

He didn't drop it until I was in the centre of the room, lying against the outer side of the cage.

I tried to keep still and catch my breath, cursing the tears I noticed were streaming down my face. I could hear Dean more clearly now. He had remained shockingly silent through the first part of the fight, but the moment I had been shoved into the wall, my brother began to scream strings of threats and curses.

I felt thick calloused fingers slide through my hair, I fought to pull my head away, but was too late. I could have gotten whiplash from the rough way Darrel pulled my head back. He forced it up, so I had no choice but to stare right into the smug face, that was inches from away.

"It can all end now Sam. All you have to do is say three simple words. Just say you give up, and I'll stop. I'll go spend the last twenty minutes with your brother."

"No." I rasped out, my voice wrecked from being strangled, and my body shuddering in pain.

I didn't care how much I hurt, or how much I wanted the torment to stop.

I would never _ever_ let him have Dean.

"Sam! Sam, just say it. I can take it, okay? I'm good. I cant take him out."

I heard my brother's urgent voice to my right. I could tell he was as close to the cage bars as his ankle chain would allow. I could also hear the strain in his voice from his own pain. The moron probably wasn't paying any mind to his bullet wound

Maybe Dean was right, he was probably better off than me, even with that hole in his side. His fighting skills were a,wags more on point than mine were, and though I was the taller brother, Dean had me completely beat in the brute-strength department.

But none of that mattered.

Because I wasn't risking Dean's life by allowing Darrel to go after him.

No fucking way was that happening.

"Listen to the man, Sam. He'll be fine. It's only twenty minutes or so, you've been going for over forty already. Let him take the rest." Darrel tempted with sly grin.

I tried for a glare, hoping that it would make me look defiant, even though all I was feeling was defeated.

"No." I declared, wishing that my voice had some power to it.

The amusement fell from Darrel's face, and hatred stole it's place.

"You dumb little fuck." He snarled

Then came a round of merciless kicking. Boot-covered feet were repeatedly slammed into various areas of my body, ramming me hard into the metal bars next to me. It didn't matter how I tried to protect myself, there was no way to make it stop. I worked to turn so my back would to receiving the abuse instead of my abdomen. It worked for a few moments, my eyes tracking through the bars to see Dean. His face was red and body tense as he screamed at Darrel and fought against his chains. Our eyes met. His were alight with a fury I had seldomly witnessed before. I don't know what emotion was in mine, but it must have hurt Dean, because his face crumpled and his threats became more desperate and he began pleading to Darrel to come at him, to leave me be.

I released inhuman noises as Darrel began to target my damaged knee; but what truly sent me over the edge was when the older man grabbed my left arm away from where it was tucked against my chest, and reefed on it in order to flip my body back toward him, he wrenched my already broken shoulder which sent an unmanageable degree of pain throughout all of my limbs.

My body reacted violently to the agony and I began to wretch. I vomited all over the cement floor, and on Darrel's boots as well. If I had have been more coherent and not so distracted by the bile burning its way up esophagus or the strain of already tormented muscles, I would have found a sense of accomplishment in Darrel's reaction to his shoes being covered in my mess. Unfortunately, I was in far too much distress to give a shit about the hunter's disgust.

Apparently, getting puke all over his boots was the last straw for Darrel, and he no longer wanted to participate in the cruel game he himself had invented.

He grabbed my right leg, the one with the knee that was not longer in it's socket, and dragged my body.

I had no energy left to fight, it was taking all I had just to remain conscious at this point. I swallowed sounds of agony, not wanting to give Darrel the satisfaction that he craved, as he wrapped his hand around my damaged knee and squeezed. My body jerked, desperate to get away, to escape the never-ending anguish flowing through me. The hunter held tight to my dislocated joint as he unlocked the cage door. I closed my eyes in a desperate effort to stop the tears that were trying to escape them, but I could hear the rattle of my brother's chain, as well as his voice.

"I swear to god, Darrel, I'm going to end you. I'm going to tear you to fucking pieces. You're worse than the monsters you hunt. You sonuvabitch!"

Anyone could detect the rage in Dean's voice, but I knew I was probably the only one who could hear the terror in it just as clearly.

I wanted to comfort Dean.

To reassure him that everything would be okay.

That I would be okay.

But I couldn't.

Because I wasn't okay.

Every part of me hurt, my shoulder and knee were searing, as the rest of my body pulsed in pain. My broken ribs and injured throat were making it difficult for me to draw in air. I was in more agony than my body could handle, and was constantly fighting off the darkness that was trying to impeded my vision and steal away my consciousness.

And when Darrel shoved my body just inside the cage, kicking at my legs until they were in far enough for him to close and lock the gate, it was everything I could do to not give in to my mind's desire and pass out. Consciousness was the best thing I could give Dean in that moment. And I hated myself for it, because he had _always_ given me more, and I knew that if our places were swapped, he would offer me more than simple coherence.

I needed to do better.

So when my big brother pleaded with me to open my eyes, I forced myself to comply

And when he begged me to 'just please come a little closer' I ignored the screaming protests of my limbs as I crawled a couple feet, motivated sheerly by the need to do better for Dean, and his gentle praise.

I collapsed the very second I felt Dean's hand wrap securely around my right bicep, taking most of my weight.

"That's it, Sammy." He whispered as he tugged me into his chest and gently pulled me towards him.

I tried to move with him, tried to force my feet to cooperate as we made our way back to the corner of the cell, but they refused.

My body had given up.

But my mind refused to relent, because Dean needed me. It would scare him if I passed out.

So I kept my eyes open, and gripped a fistful of Dean's shirt in my trembling fingers, as my head dropped against his shoulder.

"That's my boy." He praised.

Even through the pain, I smiled at that.

Because I was.

I was Dean's kid.

And I always had been.

And I would never _ever_ give him up or be the reason for his suffering.

Because he was just as much mine as I was his.

My friend.

My brother.

My guardian.

My family.

My hero.

And I wasn't going to let anything happen to him.

I would protect him the same way he did me.

I would take any number of beatings for him.

I would die for him.

Because that's what family did.

My big brother taught me that.

* * *

Note: Thanks for reading! Please review/comment if you have a spare second. - Sam


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Sorry for the wait babes. I am actually in the middle of moving, and have a whole list of other excuses, but they don't much matter now, eh?! I have yet to watch the s11 finale (yes my life has been _that_ crazy), so please no spoilers in the comments. Thanks babes! :)

I hope you enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

That bastard didn't even toss Sam in the cage close enough for me to reach him.

I was stretched out as far as I could, reefing on my ankle shackle to just get an inch closer, desperate to grab on to my hurting little brother and pull him to safety.

I wasn't even able to so much as graze the tips of my fingers against his skin.

Sam's eyes were closed, and I was terrified, terrified that if he passed out now or gave into the pull of unconsciousness that I knew was tugging at him, I wouldn't be able to help him. I would have to just sit there and watch him struggle, unable to reach him and take care of him.

"Open your eyes, Sammy. Come on, don't to sleep go right now. Just open your eyes."

And just as he always had, my little brother did what I requested of him, no matter how difficult it was.

Two hazel eyes, glossed over in pain, peeked out at me from drooping eyelids.

"That's it, buddy. Just look at me. Right here. Keep them open for me."

I could see it in the kid's eyes, how hard he was trying to stay conscious, how hard he was fighting for me. And the last thing I wanted to do was ask more from him. But I had to.

I was on my knees stretched out as far as I could be, and I begged Sam to come to me.

"Sam I need you to move a little closer. I know it's hard, but I need you to. Please, kiddo, just a little closer." I pleaded, my heart clenching at the broken noises that fell from my brother's mouth as he forced himself up onto his hands and knees.

"That's it. Come to me. I'm right here. Just get to me and it's all going to be fine. I will make it all fine. I promise, Sammy."

I didn't think Sam was registering all my words, but either way he understood my plea and unsteadily crawled toward me. Hate coursed through my veins at the sight of his approach.

Sam was crawling.

Fucking crawling.

Whimpering as he fought to drag his beaten body across the floor.

The strongest, bravest, smartest kid I knew, was struggled to make it three feet on his hands and knees.

They had done this to him.

They had tried to break him and reduce him to nothing.

But as I was finally able to reach out and grasp my little brother, pull him into my arms and against my chest, I knew that he could never be reduced. Sam would always be better and kinder and more than anyone I ever knew.

"That's it, Sammy." I praised, as I pulled him up and guided him to the corner of the cell, the safest place I could provide for him.

His feet fought for purchase, but I simply took more of his weight, knowing that his body had been through enough and not daring to request any more from it.

Sam's grip on my shirt tightened as I lowered him to the ground, seating him against the wall so that he could rest back against it. His eyes were open and he was biting down viciously on his lip, likely to keep from releasing sounds of pain, as though he hadn't more than deserve the right to do so.

I squatted there, keeping him stable, wanting to make sure he wouldn't topple over the moment I released him.

Sam dropped his forehead against my shoulder, releasing a strangled breath.

"That's my boy." I praised, sliding a hand through his hair, as I marveled at his strength.

I felt Sam sigh against me, not releasing the pain like before, but almost sounding content, which I knew couldn't have been right.

I squeezed the back of his neck, taking a second to feel him against me, finally within my reach where I could keep him safe. Where I _would_ keep him safe.

It was Sam who began to pull away after a moment, his eyes appearing a little less glassy but just as pain-filled, and flickering with concern when he directed them up at me.

"You okay?" He rasped, his voice destroyed by the attempt at strangulation he had endured.

I was taken aback by the question, my brow creasing, and then I registered the searing pain in my side. I had forgotten about the bullet, forgotten about being shot, because who had time to think about your own pain when your kid brother was being beat half to death.

I shook my head dismissively, amazed again by my little brother. The kid was bruised and bleeding, his knee was definitely out of joint and his broken shoulder had to be killing him. His muscles were still tremoring from the taser and his head was bleeding from being pistol whipped. His neck was already beginning to bruise and he could barely speak from being strangled. Each of his inhales were accompanied by a painful sounding whistle, and as I placed my hands on his chest, I could feel that his broken ribs had shifted.

My kid was falling apart, and the first thing he asked – the first fucking thing – was about my wellbeing. He was worried about me and the hole in my side, even when it did nothing to compare to the level of agony he was experiencing.

"De? You 'kay?" Sam repeated, his face pinched with worry as the hand that wasn't clutching my shirt, came up to tap my chest, pulling me from my shocked state of mind.

I felt my eyes fill, my emotions overwhelming me. The pain of being shot, the terror at seeing Sam being abused so violently, the relief of having him back in my arms, and then being face-to-face with the my little brother's unrelenting and selfless love for me, was nearly more than I could handle.

Sam took my tears as a reaction of pain, rather than the emotional overload that they were.

"S'okay. Let me see. I can fix it." He croaked, reaching out and tugging my shirt up, trying to get a look at the damage.

I lightly swatted his hands away, discretely swiping the moisture from my eyes before I spoke.

"I'm fine, Sam. Don't worry about me." I ordered gruffly, ignoring the way my voice cracked, as I used my sleeve to dab away the blood trickling down the side of his face.

If only Sam wasn't so damn attentive.

"You're not. You're in pain." He insisted, his hands moving to grip my forearms, trying and failing to distract me from my doctoring.

"It's nothing." I dismissed, finally satisfied that the cut on his brow was no longer leaking, and moving my attention down to his colourful neck.

"No. Stop!"

Sam's voice rose as loud as it possibly could with the condition his throat was in, that along with the aggressive way he grabbed my shirt, caused me to pause. The kid didn't have much strength, but he had mustered enough to surprise me. I stalled my ministrations for a moment to look up at Sam, giving him the focus he seemed to be wanting.

I could still see the pain lines so clearly patterning his young face, and the agony pouring from his gaze, but just as apparent was the frustration and the fear. The fear would have made complete sense, he had been victimized and I had repeatedly failed to protect him. Yes, the fear would have made absolute sense, if it had been for himself.

But the fear I saw in Sam's eyes, wasn't for him, which I knew because I had seen it a hundred times before.

"Sam, I'm fine. Seriously."

If I had been looking for words to ease the kid's fear, those weren't the ones.

"No. Dean, you're not fine. You were shot!"

I sighed, annoyed that Sam wasn't letting me take care of him.

"Yeah, dude. I was there, I remember." I replied, wondering what it would take to pacify my brother, so that I could get back to looking after him.

"Stop that." His gravelly voice demanded.

I frowned. Sam's stubbornness was kicking in at an extremely inconvenient time.

"What? Trying to help you?"

"No. Stop acting like it's nothing. You were _shot_ , Dean. He took a gun and he aimed it and he pulled the trigger, and shot you."

Sam's breaths were getting wheezier by the second, and he was practically whispering, but his broken tone and the tears that fell from his eyes, stopped me from scolding him for doing more to damage his throat.

I thumbed them away without thought, leaving my palm to rest against his cheek, cupping it gently.

"I know, buddy. But you're a lot worse off than me. Alright? So let's just worry about you right now."

I damn near laughed at the pout the fell upon Sam's face.

"You always worry about me." He muttered with a frown.

"Yeah, well that's my job." I stated, using two fingers under his chin tip his head back and allow me a better look at his neck.

I released a feral growl at the bruises - shaped just like Darrel's fat fingers - that were imprinted on Sam's pale skin.

"It's my job too."

I glanced up at Sam's face, seeing the serious look he was sporting, and realizing he wasn't going to let this go.

"I know. Just let me finish checking you over, and then I'll let you have a turn." I said, turning my attention back to the damaged skin.

"Bossy."

I ignored the comment at I skimmed my fingers over the darkened skin on the long neck, being sure nothing was snapped or collapsed. When I was satisfied that everything was still intact, I angled Sam's head back into a more comfortable position and levelled him with a stern look.

"Be honest, how is your throat?"

Sam opened his mouth, and instantly I knew what he was going to say.

"It's fi—

"It's _not_ fine, I can see that much. But I need to know how bad it is. I need to know if we are in danger of it swelling shut on you."

Sam paused, looking pensive for a moment before minutely shaking his head from side to side.

"I don't think so. It's a little swollen, but it isn't getting any worse."

His assurance might have been more convincing if it had been louder than a whisper, but I nodded at the information, knowing that he was telling the truth.

I moved my clinical exam down to the bare chest that was moving up and down at an unsteady rate. I could see each of Sam's ribs pushing through his skin, and worked not to display any physical reaction as to how much that disturbed me, but I couldn't stop my hands from shaking as they came into contact with the cool, tight, skin.

I knew the ribs that he already broke had shifted, and I did my best to trace their location without causing too much pain.

Sam hissed, his hand shooting out and forming a death grip on my pants, likely to keep from smacking my hands away like he probably wanted to. It didn't feel like the bones had shifted too far, but it was hard to tell and I couldn't bare causing Sam any more pain by continuing to explore.

"Which is making it more difficult to breathe, your ribs or throat?" I asked, staring at Sam expectantly, letting him know that his efforts to stifle the wheezing and whistling that accompanied every inhale and exhale, had failed.

I knew the kid just didn't want me to worry, but I really couldn't have him hiding any injury from me, especially not anything that affected his oxygen intake

Sam looked irritated and then thoughtful, before he sent half a shrug my way.

"Both?" He rasped, as though he wasn't quite sure of the answer.

"You're still getting air though, right?"

Sam gave a slight nod, which did nothing to ease my concern.

"You'll tell me if it gets worse?"

Sam had the audacity to smirk at that.

"I think you'll notice."

"Not funny." I ground out, my angry glare becoming a sympathetic grimace once I tugged Sam's pant leg up and got a good look at what Darrel had done to his knee.

"Damnit." I cursed under my breath as I stared at the dislocated limb.

"Sam, this is—

"I know." He interrupted softly, shivering at either the thought of what was coming, or the cold cellar air hitting his bare skin.

"I'm going to have to—

"I know. It's okay. Just do it." Sam acknowledged, his whispering voice filled with forgiveness.

I despised how accepting Sam was of the additional torment I was about to put him through.

I glanced around, spotting the discarded sweater over hear the center of the cage, and made to go grab it.

"No!" Sam cried, his gravelly voice nearly diminishing as it strained itself.

He used the grip he had on my pant leg to tug me closer to him, trying to keep me from leaving. Before I was able to inquire about what the issue was, Sam spoke again.

"Don't go. Please. Please, don't go." He pleaded, his expression one of panic as he proceeded to try and pull me closer to him.

I frowned, it wasn't like Sam to be so frightened, even on occasions where he had every right to be.

"It's okay, Sam. I'm just going to grab your sweater. The one you took off, because you are a total dumbass." I jested lightly, hoping it would ease the his fears.

No such luck.

"No, Dean. Please, don't leave." He insisted, moving his grip up to my wrist and latching on. I held in a gasp as his fingers cinched around the skin that was cut and raw from the shackles.

I squatted back down, so I could better see Sam's face, biting back a groan as the wound in my side made itself known. He moved his grip from my wrist to the front of my shirt, bunching it in his hand and holding on for dear life.

"Sam, I am going to be three feet away for just a second, no one is going to hurt you." I vowed, staring right into his hazel eyes, which went from being wide from fear to squinting in confusion.

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you." He stated incredulously, as though the mere thought the he were scared on his own behalf was absolutely absurd.

Now it was my turn to be confused.

"Dude, what the hell are you worried about me for? I'm only going a few steps away." I pointed out, wondering just how out-of-it my kid brother was.

"But I can't protect you over there." His hoarse voice declared, as his fingers tightened around my collar, in what I could only think to label as sheer desperation.

"Sam—

My attempt at reasoning was quickly cut off.

"If they come back I won't be able to protect you. I can't move fast enough. Dean, if he shoots you again I won't be able to stop it."

Sam was nearing hysterics. His breathing was becoming more erratic every second, his wheezing inhales sounding more and more agonizing.

"Hey, whoah. Sammy, stop. Just breathe, buddy. Just breathe." I coached, resting my palm over his heartbeat, willing it to slow.

"I'm weak, Dean." He sobbed, tears filling his eyes as his ragged voice continued to plead his case. "I'm weak and if you move away, if you go too far, I won't be able to get to you in time. You can't count on me. I won't be able to have your back if you're too far away. I want to, but I can't. I just can't. So please don't go."

Sam continued to make desperate raspy please, ignoring my reassuring words and attempts to calm him. In order to sooth my panicking little brother, I resorted to the oldest of all my methods. I leaned forward, placed a hand on the back of his head and then slid one in behind his shoulder, before pulling him into me. I was mindful of his broken shoulder as I tucked him into me, feeling the chill of his skin through my clothing.

Sam continued to mutter against my chest for a short while, but quieted soon after I began to drag my fingers through his tangled mess of hair.

I waited, not saying a word as he leaned into me, allowing him to take all the comfort and strength that he needed. Sam continued to grip the collar of my shirt, his head resting on my chest, as he hiccupped against my collarbone.

It wasn't until he began to pull away that I released him and gently guided him back up against the wall.

"Sorry." He whispered.

I shook my head, not requiring any such apology, as I swiftly wiped the lingering tears from his face with my thumb.

"Sam."

I waited patiently for his timid eyes to find mine, before continuing.

"You are worried about me. I get that, man, you know that I do. But I am literally only moving a few feet away and then I will be right back. _Nothing_ is going to happen. Okay?" I questioned.

Sam was a reasonable kid, and I knew that he was only reacting the way that he was because of all the trauma he had been through. He was skating on the edge of shock. I also knew that if I didn't take the time to calm his anxiety and awaken his rationality, then the kid would stop skating on the edge of shock, and just dive straight into it.

"Kay." He croaked, with a hesitant nod. I could tell that fear was still dominating his mind, but he was putting his trust in me first, like he had countless times before, a fact that would never cease to amaze me.

I gently patted his cheek, giving him time to release my shirt before jumping up to grab the sweater.

My intention to be quick for Sam's sake would have been far more beneficial had I not neglected to recall the bullet-wound in my side.

The moment I stood, the world spun and a searing pain radiated through my body. I couldn't stop the gasp that tore from my throat, and was barely able to keep my legs from buckling as I stumbled off balance.

"Dean!"

I ignored the grating cry and fought for some degree of coordination as I made it to my destination and bent down to grab the troublesome piece of clothing. I groaned as I stood again, holding the sweater and sliding the jacket across the floor with my foot until I was back by Sam's side. I dropped down to my knees next to him, stifling a cry as I jarred my injury.

"See? I'm fine." I declared breathily, sending the kid a cocky smirk in order to reiterate just how okay I was.

It was actually a relief to see that Sam still had enough strength to muster up a bitch-face. However, before he could lodge his complaints vocally, I proceeded with my doctoring.

I carefully maneuvered Sam into his sweater, doing my best to ignore the bloodstains and rips. His right arm went easily, but the one with the broken shoulder took a little more time, by the time I finally slid it into the sleeve, Sam was panting and biting down viciously on his lip.

"You're too fucking skinny." I grumbled, ignoring Sam's irritated huff, as I tucked his left arm up against his too- thin-chest, hoping to stabilize it. Next, I slid the jacket in behind him, pulling it around and watching the leather swallow up the thin frame. I needed to set his knee back into place, but I first had to ensure that he would not go into shock from the pain, and a big part of that depended on keeping him warm.

I pulled the neck of his sweater up over his chin, finding an unbloodied part and pressing it against his lips.

"Bite down on this." I said, forcing my voice to be steady, even though I could feel my heart pounding.

Sam nodded, opening his mouth and allowing me to slide the sweater inside, biting down hard on the fabric. I patted his cheek in silent apology for what I was soon to put him through. Sam nodded again, forgiveness and understanding pouring from his gaze as I shifted my attention to his damaged knee.

It wasn't the first of Sam's joints that I had to pop back into place. He had dislocated his wrist twice as a child, his elbow once, and his shoulder five times throughout his life. I had popped my father's knee back into place once, but it hadn't been simple. However, Sam's leg was absent of the fat and majority of muscle that John's had, making it slightly easier to depict the proper angle to adjust it from.

Looking at my little brother now, I was reminded of the young boy who had always been nothing but skin and bones, knobby knees and pointy elbows. I had worked so hard, done everything I could, to put fat on those bones, while my father had strived to layer them with muscle. Before Sam had left for school he had just enough fat to keep him insulated and enough muscle to be a hunter. It distressed me that that was no longer the case.

I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind so I could focus on the task at hand.

I didn't give Sam a warning or a countdown, because I knew he was already expecting the pain, and I didn't want him tensing up out of reflex, because it would make the relocation more difficult as well as more painful.

I was equal parts horrified and relieved when I could both feel and hear the joint snap back into place; relieved that I didn't screw it up, and horrified at the broken garbled cry that came from my little brother. The sweater collar slipped out of his mouth as he gasped for air, recovering from the agony he had no doubt just experienced.

"Fuck." He cursed, his breath coming and going in quick bursts and wheezes.

"Slow it down, buddy. Just ride it out for me. You're going to feel better in a second." Without thought I pried Sam's hand off of my shirt, extended his fingers, and placed his palm against my chest. I breathed slow and deep, willing Sam to match my pace; it was a simple strategy I had used back when my brother was a young boy, back when he had asthma.

It was after the shritga that Sam came down with an unexplainable case of childhood asthma. Unexplainable to the doctors perhaps, but my father and I had known exactly what the source was. Luckily, the kid grew out of the lung disease, but not before having to experience years of asthma attacks. Years of inhalers. Years of me trying desperately to help my little brother get some fucking oxygen into his fucking lungs. Years of Sam trying so hard to be strong even when his body was abusing him, disallowing him the one thing he needed most. Years of receiving my father's disappointed stare as I held the inhaler to my brother's lips, but I never cared about the disapproval, not in that moment, not when my kid was shaking and gasping in my arms.

I had failed Sam when he was a child. I had allowed him to be the victim of a monster, and now I had failed him once again, allowing the Fenton's to torture him.

"Stop it."

I raised my head at the surprisingly authoritative tone.

Sam looked absolutely wrecked, and yet was still able to level me with a stern look.

"What?" I croaked, somehow sounding like the weaker of the two of us.

Sam raised his eyebrows, wincing as he shifted slightly to sit more erect against the wall.

"You think I can't see what you're doing?" He questioned incredulously.

"All I'm doing is putting you back together again, Humpty Dumpty." I replied with a wink and a grin.

Sam didn't take the bait. A flicker of amusement flashed across his face, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of knowing disapproval.

"No, you're blaming yourself. And it's not your fault, so stop it." Sam ordered, his voice dropping down into a deeper octave, which may have even had a chance at being intimidating if it wasn't so scratchy.

I had started to forget, in the months we spent apart since Sam went off to school, how well my little brother knew me, and how clearly the damn kid could read me.

Life was different with just Dad and I. Don't get me wrong, John knew me pretty well and the two of us still hunted like a well-oiled machine, even with the absence of the crucial third party; but the older hunter had never been able to read me half as well as Sam always could. Even before Sam knew anything about hunting – hell even before the kid could speak – he had always been able to read me the best. He always knew when I was hurting, regardless of how strongly I would insist otherwise. He always noticed when I was getting sick – the few occasions that happened – far before even I had picked up on it. He had always known when I was scared. He had always known when I was hurt or when I was burdened by guilt.

John would go along with any act I put on, but Sam had always been able to see it all, even the emotions I buried so deep within that they got lost inside of me.

I was so used to putting up a front, so used to hiding my fear and my pain, so used to fooling everyone, that I had forgotten for a moment what it was like when someone saw past all the bullshit.

I had never been able to fool Sam, though I had worked hard at it most of our childhood. Pretending that everything was okay, even when we didn't have enough money or food to get us through the week. Pretending that I wasn't in pain, even when my wounds were bleeding, whether emotional or physical. Pretending that it didn't hurt when our father would push me too hard in training, or when he wouldn't return on special occasions, even the ones he promised not to miss.

I had done my best to keep all of that from Sam, but he had _always_ seen through me. Regardless of his age or his mood, he had always been able to read me like a book.

And it would seem that even months apart hadn't altered that reality.

I was annoyed that I wasn't able to shelter Sam from the storm roaring inside of me, but more than that, I was relieved that there was still someone who knew me in this world, who _really_ knew me. Someone I couldn't fool with my cocky smile or carefree attitude. Someone who didn't just accept the bravado, but dug past it to get to the truth hidden beneath.

Someone who saw more than the surface.

Someone who could see into my soul.

Someone who saw me.

"It's my turn."

The calm gravelly voice, and the hand that tugged itself from my grip, brought me out of my mind.

My brow furrowed in confusion.

Sam rolled his eyes, impatiently tugging at my shirt.

"Let me take a look."

I glanced down, the red patch on my shirt reminding me that I had been shot, and with that reminder came the pain. It felt like a hot poker was being repeatedly stabbed through my side, and the sparks from it were lighting my insides on fire.

I grimaced, fighting to push the pain from my mind, and focus back on Sam, but it would seem that Sam had made me the center of all his attention.

"You said that after you finished checking me over, that it would be my turn."

"And who said I was finished?" I retorted.

"I did. You have poked and prodded me enough. I'm not in dire straits, and there is nothing more you can do right now. So, now it's my turn." Sam sounded much like his naturally practical self, until that last sentence, which could only be described as territorial, almost aggressively so.

I was reluctant to agree, but could find no flaw in Sam's reasoning. Although the kid was in desperate need of a hospital, he was not in any immediate danger that I could tell, and there really wasn't anything more that I could do for him.

Which I hated more than anything.

But it felt so wrong to have Sam look after me, or worry for me, when he was in a far worse state.

Sam must have been able to sense the battle taking place in my brain, because he pulled out the most powerful weapon there was, it was the atomic bomb that always had be raising my white flag.

"Please, Dean. Let me look after you for a second. Please. I need it."

I had never stood a chance against the p-word, especially when it was accompanied by a pair of pleading puppy-dog eyes. It was that lethal combination that had always resulted in one more story before bed, the last bowl of Lucky Charms, another hour at the library, pineapple on the pizza, one more week in the deadbeat town, one less hour of training for an extra hour of homework, and another secret kept from John.

It was Sam's _"get out of jail free card"_ and the only reason I didn't think the kid did it on purpose was because if had truly known the power it held, he probably would have used it a hell of a lot more often growing up.

Just like I had nearly every other time I was faced with the deadly combination, I caved.

"Fine." I grumbled, cautiously scooting closer and sitting next to my brother, biting back a groan at the added anguish the movement caused.

Sam didn't look triumphant, but merely concerned as he gently pulled my clothing out of the way.

I didn't look down at the injury, I had no need to.

Sam would take care of it.

I may have often resisted the idea of my little brother looking after me, but that was purely because I had never wanted to worry him, or burden him. It was not because I had ever - for a single second -doubted my kid brother's ability to tend to my injuries.

Sam had known how to stitch a wound since he was twelve, and he was damn good at it. The truth was, I had always preferred his doctoring over that of our father's.

John Winchester was knowledgeable and effective, but he had learned his first-aid skills from the military, where the purpose was always to patch the soldier up as efficiently as possible. John wasn't as quick to take into account things like discomfort and lasting scars. He could stitch a claw mark up faster than most doctors I had ever come in contact with, but the process was agonizing and the scars left behind were always severe looking. Sam's touch was gentle, but never unsure. His stitching wasn't the fastest, but it was tight and precise. Sam took into account scarring, always wanting the evidence of the injury to be as minimal as possible. Sometimes it was like the kid hadn't been able to protect me from the injury, so he would do what he could to save me from the memory of it

It was all so very _Sam_.

And as much as I had always wanted to protect the kid from having to see me in pain, or having the responsibility of my well-being in his hands, I had greatly missed his compassionate care.

So when that familiarly deft touch gently prodded the hole in my side, I didn't flinch, I just closed my eyes and rested my head back against the wall, knowing without doubt that Sam would take care of me.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep.

I startled awake, jerking out of a dream that was far from pleasant, only to wake up into a reality that wasn't any better.

In my half-conscious state, I was unable to censor the cry that fell from lips at the fire that flared in my side, my injury not appreciative of my sudden movement.

"Easy, Dean. Take it easy."

Long fingers pressed against my shoulder, pushing me back to rest against the wall.

"Everything is alright. You can stand down. Just rest."

The command was tempting, and while my body seemed sluggish and eager to sleep, my mind had picked up on the exhaustion I heard in my brother's raspy voice.

I forced my eyes to focus in the dark space, rolling my head to the left, I caught sight of what I was always searching for.

Sam looked absolutely ruined.

Even in the dim cellar, I could clearly spot the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the lines of pain creasing his too-pale face.

"You need to be still. You don't want to aggravate it." He instructed, hand still pressing me back, as though he didn't trust me not to try and get up.

I blinked the sleep from my eyes, and tried to wake my groggy mind. I scanned the room again, searching for a threat, and finding nothing but an empty cellar. I did, however, notice that dim moonlight was all that was coming through the small window, and I realized I must have been sleeping for some time.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?" I asked, not intending it to sound like an accusation.

Sam sent me a pinched expression.

"You got shot. You lost a lot of blood. You needed the rest." He stated.

"Didn't lose that much blood." I countered.

Sam turned his gaze pointedly to the balled up shirt a few feet away. It had once served as his undershirt; it used to be white, and was now a dark red.

I shifted, attempting to get a better view of my kid brother, so I could judge how he was fairing. That was when I felt something shift on top of me, a weight sliding off.

"What the hell?" I snapped, staring down at my leather jacket, the one I distinctly remembered wrapping around my little brother.

I glared up at Sam accusingly.

"You were shivering." He replied, as though that was a sufficient explanation.

"Yeah, and now you are. You fucking moron." I seethed.

"I'm fine, alright? Get the hell over yourself." Sam growled, tossing my anger back at me.

My surprise must have shown on my face, because my brother continued.

"You're not the only one who gets to worry about your brother, or take care of your brother, or make sacrifices for your brother. I get to do that as well, and I don't need your fucking permission."

The words were harsh, even when they were said in a whisper.

I blinked, my worry often came out as fury, but the youngest Winchester's rarely did.

I was taking in Sam's words as I pulled the coat away from where it had been spread over me.

I held it out to my brother, who did nothing but turn his head away, but before he did I could see the hurt flash in his eyes.

I sighed, never having been a fan of how contrite I always felt when I upset my kid.

"Come on, dude. Just put it on." It was more of an appeal than a demand, which Sam had always reacted more cooperatively to.

Except when his big brother was being exceptionally douchey.

I clenched my jaw, frustrated with myself.

Sam had been looking after me, and instead of being halfway thankful, I bit his damn head off. I shook my head at my own stupidity as I pushed myself off the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam barked, using his hand to try and shove me back where I was, but I batted the long fingers away.

"If you aren't going to put it on," I stated, my teeth clenched as I fought to quiet the pain, "then I will put it on you myself."

The words made it sound like a challenge, but my soft tone depicted quite the opposite.

I could see the debate going on behind Sam's eyes, could practically hear the gears turning in his big head as he tried to figure out what angle I was coming from and the best way to respond.

One completely unintentional grimace from me seemed to be all it took to make up the kid's mind.

"Okay, okay! I'll put it on. Just sit back and stay the hell still already."

Sam's voice may have been a wreck, but his level of exasperation came across crystal clear.

I didn't move back, but I stopped my attempt to get up, simply staying where I was and holding out the jacket, knowing that Sam would need help getting back into it.

"How did you even get this off with that busted shoulder?" I inquired, as I helped thread the long arms into the sleeves, not failing to notice how cold they were when I touched them.

"I'm not an invalid." Sam muttered, still on the defense. Not that I could blame the kid, I hadn't done anything but ream him out since I woke up.

I pulled the leather together at the front, and had a sense of deja-vu from the couple other times I had performed the same task in the past few days.

"I know that, buddy." I said, placing my palm over Sam's heart for a moment, tapping it gently as I met his hazel eyes and allowed a soft smile to pull up the corners of my lips. . It was the best apology I had to offer at the moment, and my brother took it with a smile, just as he always had. Sam had never demanded more than I could give him, and he always took whatever I could provide with a grateful grin, regardless of how incredibly menial it could be at times.

"But seriously, stop moving. You'll start bleeding again." Sam insisted. His long fingers on his right hand snatching my sleeve and tugging me back next to him, against the wall.

I rolled my eyes, but did as requested, hissing as the throbbing in my side escalated once again.

Once I was settled I glanced back to my left, unsurprised to see my brother's dough-eyes shimmering with concern.

"You're unbelievable." I snorted, playfully nudging his uninjured shoulder.

"What? Because I'm worried about you? Yeah, that's ridiculous. It's not like you were _shot_ or anything."

Sam had always had a talent of making sarcasm drip from his every word.

"Do you have selective sight or something?"

Sam frowned at the question.

"Because for some reason you are entirely blind to your own injuries – of which there are way too fucking many, by the way – but you can see my one little bullet wound just fine."

Sam huffed, turning his head to look out at the cellar, and for a moment it seemed as though he were deciding whether or not to be offended. Luckily, he went with the negative.

He quirked a small smile and leaned into me just a little.

"Selective vision, huh? It's a real wonder where I got that from." He rasped, nudging me at the comment.

I couldn't help but smile, because the kid wasn't wrong.

I reached over and pulled him right up against my left side.

He began to resist.

"Dean-

"Bullet wound is on the other side, Sam."

"But, Dean-

"I'm good, I promise. I'll shove your giant ass over if I get uncomfortable."

Sam stopped attempting to move away, and slowly began to sink into me, his head dropping down onto my shoulder. I couldn't imagine how exhausted he must have been, with all he had been through in the past seventy-two hours, and I knew that he had only stayed conscious and alert because he was protecting me, because he thought that was what I had needed from him. So now that it was okay for him to rest, I could feel him fading fast. However, I could still feel the tension in his muscles, and I knew it wasn't just from pain and shivering.

"You're safe, little brother. I've got watch. Just get some rest."

Sam's frame went lax at my words, as though he had been waiting for permission to stand down.

"M'not giant. Y'r just short." He slurred.

I snorted, about to give my retort to the delayed comment, when I realized the kid's wheezy breaths were slower and a fraction deeper as he fell off to sleep.

I let my head fall to rest against Sam's, his shaggy mane tickling my chin.

I would not fall asleep this time. The guards had changed, and it was my turn to keep watch.

I placed my hand back on Sam's chest, up against his heart so that I could monitor his breathing as well as his heartbeat.

Whatever the Fenton bastards had planned next, it didn't matter, I would do anything to protect Sam.

He was too good to be tainted by their cruelty.

He was too kind to be treated so dreadfully.

He was too good to even be in their company.

He was the only light left in my light, and I wouldn't let anything or anyone tarnish him.

I needed his goodness. I needed his light and his love. I needed his forgiveness and his understanding. I couldn't lost the only true joy I had, and I couldn't lose the only person on the damn planet who knew me.

But I needed to keep Sam alive for more than just my own selfish reasons, and for more than the fact that it was my job.

I had to keep Sam alive because he deserved to have a _life_.

He had started out on his own, striving for something better, something _more_ than hunting ever had to offer.

He had dreams and hopes and a future, and he deserved all the happiness this godforsaken world had to offer.

Every.

Fucking.

Drop.

He had given more than enough to Dad, and to me, and to the world. It was time for Sam to live for _himself_ now.

It was time for him to find true happiness, like I did every time I saw that dimply grin of his.

It was time for Sam to have it all.

And no one would keep him from the life he deserved, the life he had fought for.

No Dad.

Not Me.

And sure as fuck, not the Fenton boys.

* * *

Note: A few more chapters to go. I should warn ya'll now, John is not going to storm in guns'a'blazin and save his boys...but don't worry, they will get out. It just won't be that predictable. I'm sorry if that disappoints anyone! Thanks for reading! I would really appreciate a review/comment, trying to get lots of writing done and some motivation would be greatly appreciated! Thanks! - Sam


	9. Chapter 9

Note: To the babes questioning my absence on tumblr, I am just not on there because I have yet to see the finale (life has been insane, I just moved and now finally have internet so hopefully I will be able to catch up on the weekend), but as soon as I do I will be back! Speaking of which, I have not seen the finale yet, so please no spoilers in the comments. I hope ya'll like this chapter!

* * *

The squeal of the hinges was the first thing I heard.

It was the first thing I always heard.

It prefaced the shouting and the pain.

It preluded Dean's screams and pleads.

That fucking squeal was always the beginning of it all.

I knew that in the future it would haunt my dreams, but this time, it was what pulled me out of them.

The screeching sound shocked me awake, but before I even had time to register what was happening, I felt strong hands maneuver me carefully up from my slouch, and guide me to rest back against the wall.

I would know that touch anywhere.

"De?" I croaked, instantly regretting it as my damaged throat objected.

"Shh. It's okay, Sammy. Everything is going to be fine, just rest here."

I knew that tone just as well as those hands.

To someone who didn't know it's owner, it sounded calm and collected.

To me, someone who knew better - someone who had studied the owner for their entire life - it screamed fear, protection, love, and sacrifice.

Something was wrong. Something bad was happening, something Dean was trying to protect me from.

That woke me up faster than any rusty hinge ever could.

Dean had done enough protecting. He had spent his entire life, sacrificed his entire childhood, protecting me. It wasn't fair.

I fought off the exhaustion and the pain. I ignored my weakened muscles and my throbbing bones. I forced myself into consciousness, because Dean needed me to, and he had done so much more for me over the years.

I felt the tight grip on my shoulder loosen, and before I could even pry my eyes open, I reached out and latched onto the familiar man in front of me, trying to keep him close. I tensed as I heard feet pounding down the stairs, my grip tightening around the arm beneath my fingers. I could feel my brother's muscles flexing, he was prepping for the fight. I pried my eyes open, seeing the side of Dean's head as he kept his gaze over toward the stairway, the boots coming closer.

I tried to speak, nothing but a strangled sound coming out.

It got Dean's attention, his eyes swinging back towards me.

I frowned, realizing that I couldn't seem to take a deep breath. I tried not to panic, which was hard, because every inhale was sounding worse than the one before it.

"Sam, hey man, it's alright. Your throat got a little worse over night, but you're fine. Just take it easy, breathe nice and slow."

Dean's voice was level as he placed both hands on the side of my face, forcing me to focus on him, as if I hadn't been doing that exact thing for my entire life.

"Is Sammy-boy having a little trouble there?"

I flinched at the words, having forgotten that Dean and I were no longer alone. The man squatted in front of me, did not react in the least. I looked over Dean's shoulder, trying to be sure that there was no immediate threat.

"Sam, look at me." My brother requested patiently, waiting until our gazes met before continuing. "You're going to be fine. Just sit tight for a minute, okay?"

I wanted to nod. I wanted to sit there and let Dean take control, the way he always had. I wanted to just focus on my breathing, while my brother took care of everything else. I wanted to be the protected little kid that I had always been. But I couldn't. Not now. Not when Dad wasn't there to protect Dean while he protected me. Back when we were kids, whenever I would confess my fears or anxieties about a hunt or anything else in life, my brother would assure me not to worry about it, because he had my back; I would always respond by asking him who would have his back (knowing that I wasn't enough), to which 'Dad' had always been the reply.

John wasn't here now. He wasn't here to watch Dean's back. So I had to be.

"No." I declared, inwardly cursing at my inability to put any volume or power into my voice.

Dean scrunched his face in confusion, but didn't have time to reply.

"If you want, I could just put him out of his misery right now?"

That gleeful threat was all it took to have Dean surging to his feet, detaching from my grip and spinning around to plant himself in front of me. I leaned to the right slightly, which enabled me to see the two Fenton men, apparently they had left their henchman upstairs.

"You shut the fuck up, Darrel." Dean shouted. I had never heard my big brother place so much hate in a single name.

I wanted to get up, to be sure that Dean wouldn't be hurt, but I couldn't bring my body to cooperate. I reached forward and twisted my fingers into a handful of my brother's jeans, right at his knee, wanting to keep him nearby so that I could protect him.

"What you going to do, Dean? Glare at me from inside the cage?" Darrel inquired with a chuckle.

"You sonuvabitch, I swear to—

"Relax, boys." Hank chimed in, clearly as irritated with the pointless back-and-forth as I was.

"Oh come on, Dad. Just let me get rid of him. We only need one." The Fenton son complained, casually aiming a handgun into the cage, pointing it directly at my big brother.

"Dean, you need Dean."

All three men looked in my direction, the two older hunters having to crane their necks to see me past my brother, who had one foot planted on each side of my extended legs. If there were a more territorial stance, I had yet to see it.

I struggled to take a breath deep enough to speak again.

"Dad will come for Dean. Shoot me." I rasped out breathily, trying for more volume. "You need Dean." I reaffirmed.

I looked at all of them. My brother looked mortified, Hank – as always – looked angry, and Darrel looked absolutely baffled; I didn't have the energy to figure out why.

"Shut the hell up, Sam." Dean snapped.

I sent him an apologetic look, but had no intention of doing as he asked. If the Fenton men were truly going to shoot one of us, I was going to convince them to choose me. It had to be me. I was fighting to fill my lungs with oxygen, so I could continue to argue my case, but Hank made a ruling before I had the chance.

"We ain't wasting neither of them, Darrel, not yet." The eldest Fenton declared, swatting his son's gun away.

I released the air I had been saving, relieved that Dean would be safe for now. I tightened my grip on his jeans, not failing to notice how tense he still was.

"What I would be interested in, is finding out why the hell John ain't responding to your damn phone call. Did you give him some sort of warning?" Hank hollered, standing up close to the bars and glowering at my big brother.

"No. You know that I didn't. I read what you wanted word-for-fucking-word." Dean bit out.

Hank didn't seem to buy it. "Well then why isn't your old man responding?" He shouted, his volume and anger growing.

Dean made no response, except to shift even more completely in front of me, forcing me to crane my neck to see past him.

Bad idea.

The strain on my already abused neck caused my swollen throat to close. I heard a horrifyingly desperate sound and I didn't realize it had come from me until I saw my big brother snap around, his jeans torn from my grip, and his eyes wide with panic. I instinctively wanted to reassure him, but I couldn't breathe.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water, reaching desperately toward Dean, grasping his shirt and tugging him forward, as though his proximity in itself could cure me. I could hear yelling in the background, but the fog clouding my mind prevented me from being able to make it out. However, Dean's voice stood out, the way it always had. I could hear him loud and clear from where he was suddenly crouched down in front of me.

"Don't you dare do this, Sammy. Don't you fucking dare. You take a breath. You take on right fucking now."

I struggled to obey, hearing another horrible noise resound in my skull as I gasped for oxygen. I managed a small amount of air, but nothing near what I needed.

I started to panic, feeling as though I would never again fill my lungs. I pulled desperately at Dean and arched my back, feeling my shoulder scream, but not having the time to care. I looked pleadingly into my brother's green eyes, begging him to help me. My mind knew how unfair that was, but my heart simply reverted back to its childish belief that Dean could always save me.

"Come on, man. Slow inhales. I know your body is telling you to get as much as you can, but you can't with that throat. Breathe slowly." My big bother coached, two hands on the side of my face, keeping my neck still and straight.

I felt my ribs shift as my chest heaved and a small sip of air forced its way past my damaged throat.

Dean must have heard the whistle of oxygen slip down my windpipe, because he seemed to calm down a bit.

"That's it, buddy. That's it. Nice and slow."

I followed instruction, something I only ever did when Dean was the one giving the orders, and eventually my breathing began to normalize. My head cleared of the haze that had clouded it, as my lungs were able to fill and expel air several more times. With that clarity, I was able to hear Darrel's snicker and Hank's impatient demands to gain Dean's attention. The eldest Fenton was soon to learn that no one and nothing could take my big brother's focus off me at a time when I needed him. It was the same lesson that had been learnt by various females who had taken a romantic interest in my brother, he had always returned their interest and made them feel special, but he had never placed them above me or my needs. It had been the same with any teacher who had demanded Dean's attention at a time when I had been hurt or upset. It had been the same with our father. My big brother always listened to John, but even at a young age I knew that I had always been Dean's sole focus.

A great many people could be granted Dean's attention - pretty girls, our dad, fellow hunters, and even the occasional authority figure– but it was never undivided. I had learned long ago that I was always on my brother's radar. I had also discovered, from simple observation, that anyone who had ever tried to pry Dean's focus away from me - particularly at a time when I was hurting - would experience the totality of his wrath.

True to form, Dean waited until I was breathing steadily again - or as steady as I had been able to accomplish with a swollen throat and busted ribs - before sliding out of my grip and climbing to his feet, marching as close to the bars as his ankle chain would allow and tearing into Hank.

"You piece of shit! What the **hell** is wrong with you? You worthless sonuvabitch!" Dean shouted.

I could see his body shaking in rage, and I wished he had been closer so that I could tell him to calm down before he sent his blood pressure through the roof and his bullet wound started bleeding again.

I also wished he would stop pulling so hard on the shackle around his ankle, he was risking infection every damn time he broke the skin.

"I didn't do a damn thing to the kid." Hank defended.

Dean disagreed.

"You rammed your _truck_ into his side of the car. You cattle-prodded him! Your keeping us locked down in this dungeon and keeping him from a hospital, which is where he fucking needs to be right now!"

Dean was seething, his voice deep, just like it always got when he was furious.

"You two wouldn't have been trapped down here so long, if your father picked up his damn phone." Hank growled back.

The miniscule level of calm that Dean had been able to maintain throughout the conversation, vanished instantly.

"What the hell did you think would happen? You thought you'd just make a call and he'd come running? You thought John Winchester would be that easy? Have you met the man? He never answers his fucking phone! Sam and I spent three weeks in foster-care before John managed to listen to his goddamn messages." Dean bellowed.

My eyes grew in surprise, Dean hadn't mentioned the foster-care incident since it occurred over a decade ago. To say that it was a touchy subject was the king of all understatements. Therefore, I found it a little more than surprising that my brother had mentioned it so flippantly, even amidst his blind anger.

Dean's outburst did, however, seem to answer whatever question it was that Hank had come down to ask.

"Well you best hope history don't repeat itself, boy, because we ain't waiting three weeks. What we've got planned is a little, shall I say, time sensitive." The older man declared cryptically, before turning and heading toward the stairs.

I frowned at the statement, not understanding what the rush was. The Fentons seemed to be on a schedule of some sort. But, why? Why couldn't they wait?

I didn't have time to ponder the situation, because Dean's behaviour quickly distracted me from any other train of thought.

"You getting a kick out of all this, Darrell? You like watching fellow hunters suffer, you sick bastard?" Dean snarled, very obviously trying to pick some sort of fight with the smirking man.

"You may be a hunter, Dean, but that pussy brother of yours sure as hell ain't in our league." Darrel sneered, his disgusted gaze boring into me. I tried my best not to shrink under it, not wanting to feel as small as I knew he wanted me to, but it was difficult. Luckily, I didn't have to fight off the glower for too long, because Dean switched the attention back to himself.

"Sam's a better hunter than you'll ever be." He declared.

I couldn't stop the small smile that pulled at my lips, feeling that childish surge of pride that always arose within me anytime my brother sent a compliment my way, even indirectly.

"Sam's a liability, and you know it."

I barely even had time to register to comment before Dean was leaping across the space, the chain attached to him pulling tight as he reached out toward Darrel, out of what looked like some feral need to rip his lungs out.

"I'll kill you, Darrel. The first chance I get, I'll ring your neck!" My brother threatened, then again, Dean's threats had always been more like promises.

"You'd ring my neck, just for saying the truth?" Darrel replied with a smirk.

"You want to know what the truth is, Darrel? I was there that night, remember? The night James died. And the only liability, was you. You and your little concussion. No broken bones, no critical bleeding, just a little knock on the head, and it took you down. You weak-ass piece of shit."

I was shocked. The Fenton's were shocked. Dean wasn't finished.

"We would have been able to get James out of there, if you had just woken your useless-ass up from your fucking nap, Darrel. You were the only liability that night." Dean spat.

I had never seen my brother behave so viciously, not even in his most protective state. I had often witnessed Dean on the attack before, whether it be against bullies or monsters, but he had never been so relentlessly cruel.

Hank Fenton was still standing stalk still, eyes wide in – what seemed to be – a mixture of shock and horror. Darrel, however, quickly snapped out of his surprised state, and launched himself at Dean.

"Dean!" I called, my warning too late as the enraged man reached through the bars and grabbed hold of my brother's collar.

Darrel tugged Dean impossibly closer, forcing the chained man off his feet. Dean latched onto Darrel to keep from falling to the ground, I could see my brother's hands wandering over the older hunter, like he was looking for something to hold on to. The older man roughly pulled him so the two were face-to-face.

"You better watch your mouth, Winchester, or I'll make sure that your little brother meets the same bloody end that mine did." He spat.

I was preparing to stand, not liking the way my brother's face was being forced against the bars of the cell, or the ankle cuff that must have been tearing aggressively into his skin; when Hank moved toward the boys, grabbing Darrel and jerking him back. He shoved his son in the other direction, before turning to Dean, who had just barely been able to regain his balance after the man who had been keeping him vertical was disappeared.

"The only one to blame for my son's death, is that bastard father of yours. The moment that asshole decides to show his face, I am going to make him pay for everything he has done to my family." Hank swore, marching away in fury. He ignored Darrel's furious protests as he forced him up the stairs.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" I croaked out, inwardly cursing my inability to gain more volume.

Dean waited until the basement door closed, before turning to me. He didn't even have the curtesy to look the least bit chastised. My older brother had the audacity to smile at me as he started making his way back to where I sat, uselessly, in the corner.

"Why would you bait Darrel like that, have you lost your mind? He just shot you less than twenty-four hours ago." I was just guessing on the timeline, because I couldn't begin to peg how long ago it had happened, or even how long we had been trapped in our makeshift prison.

"Relax, Sammy. I had it all taken care of."

I balked at the statement, my anger rising.

"Taken care of? He damn near tore you apart! Your side is bleeding again, and you're ankle is probably a disaster. I can see you limping!" I accused, but I didn't sound nearly as furious as I was. Everything came out as a whisper, and after my little lecture, I had trouble catching my breath. Dean must have noticed, because the shit-eating grin quickly fell from his face and he kneeled down at my side.

"Take it easy, Sammy. You need to stop talking. You're making it worse." He stated sternly.

I glared over at the man, my lungs still not full, but full enough for me to express just how hypocritical Dean was being. Luckily, all I didn't even have to open my mouth for Dean to get the message.

"Okay, calm down, dude. I had a reason for starting a fight with those assholes, it wasn't just about me releasing my frustration. Although it definitely did feel good."

I was unimpressed and gave my brother a look that said as much.

"If you keep giving me that bitch-face of yours, I might just leave you in here and make my escape all on my own." Dean quipped with a smirk.

I frowned, feeling as though I was missing something. I realized what, the second he dangled a key from his fingers.

"Whaa—

I was unable to finish the exclamation as I began to cough. Each hack had my throat feeling as though acid was being poured into it, and my ribs screaming as they shifted. I felt my eyes tear up at the pain, and instinctively reached out for my brother. Dean's calloused hand quickly grabbed onto my own, and I could hear him coaching me through the hurt. It wasn't long until the coughs tapered off, and the agony faded away. I hadn't noticed that any tears had escaped my closed eyelids until I felt a thumb wipe them away. I opened my eyes to be met by my brother's concerned expression. I released my grip on his hand and sent him a nod, indicating I was okay. He released me and sat back a little, but I could tell that he was still worried, terrified even.

"Sorry." I whispered.

"Shut-up, Sam! Stop fucking talking."

The anger didn't faze me in the least, it had often been Dean's way of dealing with his fear, even since we were both kids; or since I was a kid, I had come to believe that Dean had only _really_ been a kid for four years. After our mom died, he had been unjustly forced into parenthood, because of me.

"Hey, Dude! I said stop talking, I didn't stay turn into a space-cadet."

I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to my brother. I was about to question what the plan was, but Dean read my mind so that I didn't have to go through the pain of speech.

"We will have to wait until tonight, and hope to hell that Darrel doesn't check his pockets at any point, because there is no way we would be able to make a run for it in the daylight."

I gave a slight nod, and sighed, feeling a strong sense of relief that we now had a chance at getting free.

"But, Sam, tonight you will have to go on your own."

And just like that, any sliver of relief I had, dissipated immediately. Before I could question the statement, Dean continued.

"This key is for the cell, it's not going to work on my ankle." He explained, gesturing down to the bloodied piece of metal that entrapped his leg. "I won't be able to get out."

My eyes grew as understanding hit me, gawd I must have been so out of it to not have already figured it out.

"You will have to go alone." Dean summarised.

I shook my head.

"It will hurt, buddy, I know. But you can do it. You just have to make it out of the cell to that window over the." He stated, pointing across the cellar. "You've got to break the window. It will hurt like hell, but you'll be able to get your skinny ass through that space no problem. Then you just got to move, go find the road, a neighbor, anyone you can and get help. Stay alert though, we don't know who we can trust."

"Not leaving you." I rasped.

Dean frowned.

"I can't go, Sam. You have to do it, you have to get out of here while you have the chance."

"Not leaving you." I tried my best to sound forceful, but just ended up sounding like an elderly man who smoked five packs a day.

"Yes, Sam. You are." Dean countered. "Now, shut the hell up and listen. You need to rest up, and when you get out you need to get to a hospital. Don't worry about health insurance or any of that, just say you were in an accident and can't remember anything, they will help you. Then call Bobby and tell him where I'm at. Do your best to not put too much pressure on your knee, I popped it back in place but it might not stay that way if you strain it too much. Be sure to keep your guard up the entire time, we don't know who we can trust. Just get out, find a hospital or someone who can take you there, and call Bobby. It will suck, Sammy, and it is going to hurt a lot, but I know that you can do it!"

I was touched by my brother's belief in me, but the man was entirely delusional to think that I would leave him in this hell hole for one damn second.

"I _won't_ leave you." I croaked defiantly.

"Damnit, Sam! You will!"

I calmly shook my head. Dean didn't like that.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Out of all the self-sacrificial garbage that you have ever done, this is the most moronic! You realize that if you don't go, we might both die down here? You could be condemning us both to death with this dumbass decision!"

Dean's face was mere inches from my own, his fist thumping violently against the ground, as he fought hard to keep his voice down in his anger. I understood his fury, and did not begrudge him for it for even a moment. I knew I would react the same or worse if the roles had been reversed, but that didn't change my decision. I couldn't leave Dean. I couldn't leave him knowing that the moment the Fentons discovered my absence, they would hurt or even kill my big brother. I couldn't leave Dean unprotected, alone and chained up to suffer the consequences of my freedom. I would never do that. I could never do that. It wasn't an option.

Leaving my big brother in my pursuit of higher education, had been hard enough, even when I knew he wasn't alone and that our father would do anything to protect him. Leaving him alone with no one to look out for him, no one to save him, no one to have his back, that was never – had never been an option.

"You can—

I fought for a deeper breath so I could speak more clearly, putting a hand up to silence my brother as he opened his mouth.

"You can throw any tantrum you want, I'm still not going to leave you." I declared, giving my voice all the power I could, and still only making it barely louder than a whisper.

Dean looked angry, and then thoughtful. I watched him steadily, waiting for his next attempt to get me to leave, my brother never gave up easy.

"So instead of leaving and being my only chance to get out of here, you are willing to just sit here and watch me die, chained to this wall. Are you really that selfish?"

I knew that the next approach would be harsh, Dean's desperation growing by the second, I had no idea it would be _that_ harsh. I tried to keep my face neutral, wanting him to know that his cruel tactic wasn't working.

"I would rather stay and do everything I can to protect you, and _possibly_ die by your side, than leave and _know_ that you were killed alone, chained to a wall." I was proud that my hushed voice stayed steady, my manner remaining reasonable and calm through the entirety of the emotional statement.

Dean looked affected by the words, the furious lines in his face softening, but he wasn't ready to give up.

"Sam, if you leave, we both have a chance. But if we stay here, the Fentons are going to kill us the second they get sick of waiting around for Dad. You know that."

"What I know, is the moment they notice I am gone, they are going to hurt you - maybe even kill you – and I can't let that happen. I can't leave you so unprotected." I explained.

"I don't need to be protected. I can take care of myself. Besides, how would you protect me? You can barely stand, Sam."

That one hurt, I did my best not to show it on my face, but it must have flickered in my eyes, because Dean appeared apologetic. However, it was only for a brief moment, before he schooled his features.

"If you think that I can escape through that window and go run for help, why wouldn't you think that I can protect you?" I rasped, staring accusingly at my big brother.

He shook his head in what I recognized as exasperation.

"Sammy, come on, please. Please do this, buddy."

Out of all Dean's methods, that one was always the most difficult to resist. I could always fight my way through his attempts to pull big-brother-rank, his efforts to reason with me, and his desperate cruelty, but the soft pleading almost always had me giving in. I hated it when he pleaded like that, begging me to do as he asked. It almost always won me over. It was my brother's last resort and the few times he had been desperate enough to use it, I had always caved. But not this time. Not when Dean's well-being was my reason for holding out.

"I can't, Dean."

"You can, I know you can. You're strong enough, Sam." He insisted, thinking I meant physically.

"I can't leave you, De, I can't. Please stop asking me." I requested softly, my voice breaking as my mask of calm reason fell away.

Dean squinted his eyes, studying me for a moment, before dropping his gaze and sitting back.

"You've always been a stubborn little bitch." He said with a sigh, his words having not bite to them this time.

"Yeah, I got that from my brother." I quirked a small smile, resting back against the wall and closing my eyes, a little more relaxed now that the argument was over. I hated fighting with my big brother, always had. I had no problem arguing with Dad, though it was never something I had enjoyed, but I couldn't stand being at odds with Dean.

"I will get you out of here, Sam. I swear."

I opened my eyes and looked at Dean. He looked so much older than his age, his face lined with concern, his eyes coloured with fear and promise, his shoulders slumped with the weight of responsibility.

"Then you best think up a plan that gets us both of here, Dean. Because I'm—

"Not leaving me, I know. You're starting to sound like a broken record, kid." Dean commented, pulling his leather jacket tighter across my frame. Obviously my attempts to stifle my shivers hadn't been overly successful.

"I have to in order to get through your thick noggin." I quipped in return, smirking at my brother's eye-roll.

"Whatever, dude."

I was about to close my eyes again, so that I could focus on the laborious process of inhaling and exhaling, when Dean shifted to a more comfortable sitting position and I caught a glimpse of his ankle.

"Let me see it." I demanded, pointing to the bloodied joint.

"I'm fine." He dismissed.

"Dean." I warned.

"There is no reasoning with you today, is there?"

I simply motioned impatiently towards his ankle.

Dean released a long put-upon sigh, before extending his leg towards me. I carefully rolled up his pant-leg, cringing at what I saw. The shackle had destroyed the skin beneath it. It was raw and abraded, and it appeared that the metal had dug in particularly deep in one area. It was probably the result of Darrel pulling Dean so far forward when he was still chained to the wall, forcing the shackle to bite deeply into his leg. That one section was still seeping blood. Infection was inevitable.

"Fuck." I swore, staring at the damage, dabbing the blood away with my sleeve, not failing to hear Dean's hiss, or notice how cool his skin was when I touched it.

"You're cold." I hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but it did.

Dean shrugged, at least having the common sense no to lie about something so blatantly obvious.

I frowned and began to slide out of his jacket, before he stopped me, swatting at my hands.

"Hey! Don't. I'm fine. It's just a chill, you need that more."

I began to shake my head at the comment, reaching for the coat again when Dean entrapped my hands in his.

"Sam, I've let you win quite a few battles today, but you won't be winning this one. Leave the jacket on."

The stern tone and bright green stare had me relenting, Dean was right, I had won a few battles and would have to settle with those for now. Besides, if there was anything my big brother would fight to the death on, it was my well-being. I nodded, indicating that I would do as he wished, only then did Dean release his grip on my fingers.

"How's your throat?" He questioned, allowing me to pull his shirt up and examine the bullet wound.

"S'okay." I whispered, peaking under the make-shift-shirt bandage on Dean's side, satisfied that the injury had only trickled out a little more blood and had not been further damaged by Darrel's rough treatment.

"You need some ice to suck on or something."

I made not response, because, gawd, that would be amazing; but I knew it was something Dean couldn't provide, and I did not want him feeling badly about it.

"How's your shoulder?"

I sighed, annoyed by the inquisition.

"It's fine. Throbs a little, but as long as I keep it still, it doesn't hurt too much." I summed up, hoping Dean would stop asking, because I had nothing good to report.

He nodded, but I could see his jaw clenching. We sat in silence for a while, both frustrated that we couldn't better help the other. After some time I began to devise a plan, one that would give both of us a chance at an escape. I knew that it was a plan Dean would not agree to, and I knew it was one he would prevent me from following through with. So, I decided it would be best not to tell him. It wasn't often that I kept things from my brother, it was actually something I hated doing, but on occasion (particular when it came to looking out for him) it was a necessary evil. I would wait until night, wait until Dean was asleep, and then I would leave the cell, creep upstairs, and find the key to his ankle shackle.

I would find it and get Dean free, and then we would leave _together._

"What were you doing offering yourself up to the Fentons like that?"

It took me a moment to realize what Dean was referring to.

"I didn't offer myself up."

"' _Shoot me. You need Dean. Dad will come for Dean.'_ That is offering yourself up on a fucking platter. So, why the hell did you do that?"

It was a question I really didn't want to answer, because I knew that Dean would not like what I had to say. Dean always awarded me more worth than I ever deserved, and I knew that he would never see the truth. The reality was, Dean was worth far more than I ever could be, to the women of the world, to the hunters of the world, to the victims of the world, and to our father. I knew it to be true, and never for one moment resented him for it, because I knew better than any other human being just how much my big brother was worth. No matter what the truth was, Dean would never see it, he would always view my worth as being above his own, so any conversation we were to have on the matter wouldn't ever result in mutual understanding.

I settled for half a shrug and a vague truth. "I was just protecting you. You do the same thing for me all of the time."

"Yeah, I look out for you. I don't beg a psychopath like Darrel to empty a clip into me."

"He didn't. I'm fine. It's fine. Let it go." I sighed, closing my eyes and resting my head back.

I waited in the silence to find out whether or not Dean was going to push that matter.

"We will talk about this. But it can wait until after you get some rest." He huffed.

I pried my eyes open and levelled Dean with a serious look.

"It can wait until after we _both_ get some rest."

Dean looked about to argue, but I smacked his leg before he could.

"You've gotten way less sleep than I have."

"You need it more—

"Bullshit. You need it just as much as I do, so the second I wake up, it is your turn to sleep while I keep watch."

Dean appeared irritated, but had the sense not to waste time bickering.

"Even Batman needs sleep, big brother." I quirked a smile.

Dean smirked at that.

"Still think I'm Batman, huh?" Dean joked, knowing that I had always been the one rolling my eyes at his declarations of comparisons to the superhero.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and gently rolling my head back and forth against the wall.

"Nah, you're way cooler."

I didn't need to open my eyes to know that there was a smile on my brother's face. I felt him move closer, shifting to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with me, it was only then that I truly began to relax. Being able to feel my brother alive and safe next to me, always soothed my soul more than anything else ever could. My breath was still coming in whistles, and my entire body was throbbing, but Dean was with me, and he was okay, and that was all I had ever needed in order to be alright.

"Get some sleep, Sam."

The gentle prompt was all I needed. My consciousness already fading. I promised myself that when I woke, I would sneak upstairs, find the key, and save Dean. It was my turn to rescue my brother, and I wouldn't let him down. Not again.

Dean must have assumed I had already surrendered to sleep, because I didn't believe his next words were meant for my ears.

"How could anyone ever see you as a liability, Sammy. You're so damn smart. You've spent most your life rescuing strangers. Risking everything for people you don't even know. You never once asked for anything in return. You're a hero. You've saved my life a hundred times over."

I was too far gone to form a reply to the quiet words, but I was still with it enough to be shocked by them.

How could Dean think that?

How could he think for one second that I was some sort of hero?

_He_ was the hero.

He was the one who had sacrificed everything for the hunt, for our father, and for me.

He was the one who never asked for anything in return, who never acted like the world owed him anything, even though it sure as hell did. He never treated me like a burden or resented me for stealing his childhood and adding to the weight he always carried on his shoulders; instead he rescued me and protected me over and over again. He was the one who always listened to and obeyed our father, no matter how difficult it could be at times. And if it was the last thing I did, I would make sure that Dean was the one who made it out of the damn cellar alive, because he fucking deserved it.

Dean was the hero.

He was the one to be idolized.

He was the one who had earned the chance at a normal, care-free life.

He was the one who held more worth than any other human being I had ever known.

He was the one who should be protected.

He was the one who deserved to be saved.

Not me.

Dean.

* * *

Note: I would love to know your thoughts! I don't always have time to reply to each comment, but they still mean a lot to me! I am thinking about writing a separate fic about the brother's three weeks in foster-care...would anyone be interested in that? I'm on the fence about it, but if enough people seem interested, I will definitely write a fic about it. Just let me know! Thank you so much for reading! - Sam


	10. Chapter 10

Note: See?! I told you I was working on it. I guess all that nagging finally paid off. ;) Enjoy!

* * *

I woke up, alone.

It was something I had done often in the months since Sam had been at Stanford.

However, I still wasn't used to it.

After years of waking up to a kid snuggled into my side, or a young boy poking me and softly requesting breakfast, or a teen dragging me out of bed to get to school; after all that, learning to wake up alone was difficult.

Waking up in pain also, usually meant there would be a terrified pair of hazel eyes waiting to meet mine, or a shaggy head resting against my leg, or thin fingers latched onto my own.

But I didn't feel any of that now.

I sighed, twitching in discomfort, distractedly wondering what the hell had gotten me this time, as I felt my side throb. I scrunched my nose up at the rank smell that assaulted my nostrils, and wondered what sort of place I was stuck in that emitted such a strong stench.

I grumbled, knowing that I would have to open my eyes eventually, though I was in no rush to do so, because I was alone.

I hated it.

When I finally pried my eyelids open, and was greeted with the darkness of a cellar, my memories came flooding back.

Waking up in the hospital, feeling my heart swell at the sight of the overtired, under-fed, little brother at my side. The quick trip to McDonalds, after which I discovered that my kid was broke and starving. The crash. The Fentons. Sammy's torture. Getting shot.

It all came back.

My gaze ravaged the cell, searching for the gangly boy who was supposed to be seated by my side.

"Sam?" I called, not yet aware enough to sensor the fear from my voice.

After Sam had woken up he had insisted that I get some rest. I had agreed, because the blood-loss from the bullet wound had left me completely depleted. When I had fallen to sleep, Sam had been right next to me, his shoulder pressing against mine, I had been able to hear each of his whistling breaths.

Now he was gone.

I made to get up, feeling a weight slide off of me as I did so. It was my jacket.

The fucking jacket that Sam was supposed to be wearing.

"Sammy!" I called out again, biting back a groan as I climbed to my feet, twisting the leather coat nervously in my hands.

The cage door was closed, the window across the other side of the room was still intact. It didn't look like the younger man had done as I begged him to, and made an escape.

Had Hank, or Darrell, or that mindless henchmen of theirs, come and taken my little brother?

Had I slept through Sam being nabbed from right under my nose?

Had I failed to protect him for the hundredth fucking time?

Panic was racing through my veins, as I moved as close to the cell entrance as I could, before the chain attaching me to the wall pulled taut.

"Sam!" I shouted, my voice cracking, my dread too strong to disguise. "Where the hell are you?"

I pulled uselessly at my restraints again, studying the closed cage door, as I slid my hand into my pocket.

The key was gone. The key to our cell had vanished.

Sam must have taken it, but then where the fuck did he go, and why the hell didn't he wake me first?

The squeal of hinges told me the basement door was being opened. I ignored the pain pulsing through my entire right side as I tried to see who was coming down the steps, and then I heard them.

"Hurry the fuck up."

That was Darrell.

"Bite me."

And that was Sam. A pissed Sam. A pained Sam. I could clearly hear the agony hidden beneath the sarcastic bite.

I was both relieved that Sam was alive and breathing, and disappointed that the kid hadn't gotten away.

"Sam?" I called out, unable to help myself, when I saw the younger man stumble into my view. He looked up, quirking a smile, which did nothing to veil the pain lining his face.

"Don't worry, Dean. I got your little pet, right here." Darrel slurred, pressing his handgun into my little brother's back, forcing him to move faster, and nearly lose his balance.

"Hey!" I snapped, not liking the weapon in the older man's hand, or the obvious glaze over his eyes. Darrell was clearly drunk, the way he was slurring, but not wasted enough that the gun in his grip wasn't a threat.

"Unlock it, and get your ass back in there." The larger man ordered gruffly, jabbing the barrel of his glock unnecessarily hard into the back of Sam's injured shoulder, causing my brother to flinch. I could see his jaw clenching, and knew that the younger man was fighting to hold back sounds of anguish.

"Hurry it up!" Darrell barked, grinding the firearm into Sam's left shoulder, making him gasp, his knees nearly buckling as his trembling fingers struggled to slide the key into the lock on the cell door.

"Take it easy, asshat." I seethed, cursing my restraints and wishing I could get closer when Sam pulled the door open.

"Is that the thanks I get for returning your precious little cunt?"

Sam flinched at the vulgar insult, as though it had been a well-aimed strike. The words made my fingers curl into fists, my body vibrating with rage, the need to hurt, the desire to shred Darrell into a million fucking pieces. I didn't think I could possibly feel a more intense level of hatred, until I could do nothing but watch as the Fenton son ripped the cell key from Sam's hands, and mercilessly shoved the thin body into the cage. Sam blindly reached to grab hold of something to halt his fall, but found nothing, because I couldn't get close enough to reach the kid. He dropped, hitting the unforgiving concrete with a smack and a cry.

"You sonuvabitch." I snarled, glaring at Darrell as I fruitlessly reached out for Sam, knowing I wouldn't be able to get close enough to touch him.

The Fenton boy slammed the door closed, and locked it, pocketing the key before glaring over at me, not even glancing at my little brother who was curled up and shaking on the floor.

"He was ditching you, you know." He announced, his tone deep and dark, not like I had ever heard it before.

I didn't give a reaction, because I knew that was exactly what Darrell was searching for.

"He was going to take off. Leave you down here to die. He even locked the fucking cage, keeping you trapped. Leaving you behind to rot, just like he did when he ran off to school. He's a fucking traitor. Your dad figured out as much."

"If you don't shut your goddamned trap right fucking now, I will beat your skull in." If I hadn't been so enraged by the scum standing across from me, I would have been shocked by the darkness in my tone, which sounded foreign even to my own ears.

"Everyone heard about John Winchester disowning his youngest for turning his back on the life. No one could figure out where you stood. I'm betting you never had an issue with the little scum. You were probably even happy for the spineless deserter. But what about now, Dean? The kid was slinking off into the night without you. Leaving you to die alone, chained to a fucking wall. He might as well have stabbed you in the back. Again. You still think he's worth fighting for?"

With every filthy lie that fell from Darrell's lips, Sam's thin frame curled tighter into itself; while my glare and need for violence grew; but before I could form a response and tell that man exactly what he could do with his poisonous bullshit, he was clumping back up the stairs.

"Fucking cowardly piece of shit." I cursed, my body burning with the desire to teach Darrell a lesson he would never forget, or possibly not live to remember.

I didn't stand down from my defensive position, didn't allow my fingers to uncurl, until I heard the basement door slam shut.

"Sammy." I called out softly, crouching as close to the younger man as I could.

Sam nodded, answering my unspoken question. My tone of voice being enough to display my need to know about his wellbeing.

His good arm shook violently as he leveraged himself up off the hard floor into a seated position.

"Fuck." Sam hissed, grabbing his left elbow and curling in on himself. I knew his shoulder had to be killing him, and was more than a little worried about the state of his ribs after all the activity.

"Come here, buddy. Let me take a look at you." I said, trying not to sound as desperate as I was feeling.

"I'm fine." Sam lied through clenched teeth, his breath coming in shallow whistles as his grip tightened around his injured arm.

"Bullshit. Get your ass over here, Sam." I ordered. My concern hiding behind frustration.

My hurting, beaten, little brother, found the strength to glare at me, his expression telling me loud and clear exactly what I could do with my authoritative demand.

"Enough with the look, alright. Just get over here so I can make sure that bastard didn't do any permanent damage."

Sam didn't budge.

"I can take care of myself. I'm not an invalid." He grumbled, eyes on the ground as he kept a tight hold on his busted shoulder.

"Never said you couldn't, and I know you're not." I relented, detecting the emotional pain in the younger man's voice. "You're not a traitor either."

Sam's head shot up at the comment, his expression pinched and jaw clenched.

"Or anything else that asshole called you. Don't let that fucker get to you, Sammy." I petitioned gently.

The younger boy looked down, his jaw still clenched as he thought for a moment, before finally nodding slowly, with a tired sigh. After which, he began to climb to his feet.

I observed closely, my hands twitching with the need to help my little brother as he struggled to come to a stand. Once he was finally upright – relatively speaking – he started to shuffle in my direction.

"That's it, buddy. Just a little closer." I encouraged.

Sam rolled his eyes, but his shallow breathing seemed to prevent him from expelling the sarcastic retort I knew was on the tip of his tongue. It felt like it took twice as long as it should have, but eventually the trembling frame was within my reach.

I stretched out, ignoring the bite of metal into my ankle, and wrapped a supportive hand around my brother's right elbow.

"Come on, kiddo, let's get you settled."

Sam grunted a response as I lead him back to his designated corner of the cell.

"Alright, going down." I narrated, keeping a firm grip on the taller man as I eased him onto the ground and propped him up against the wall.

Sam bit down on his lip, groaning in agony as he leaned back, relaxing only a fraction once he was situated.

"Fuck." My little brother cursed again, between clenched teeth.

I patted him supportively on the collarbone, just below his good shoulder, as I quickly began to examine him.

"It'll be a bloody miracle if your little adventure didn't jack anything up." I muttered, cringing at the sight of the kid's abdomen and the many colours that covered it.

"Doesn't feel any worse. Everything just hurts."

"No shit." I cursed, hating to even think about how much pain my kid was feeling.

"How are you?" Sam questioned, his hand coming up to lift the corner of my shirt, clearly trying to find the bullet wound hidden underneath.

"Better than you." I grunted dismissively, swatting at the long searching fingers grazing my hip.

"Just let me check." Sam huffed, still tugging at my shirt.

"Not now." I snapped, smacking at his hands

Sam growled, but relented all the same, dropping his arm back down onto his lap.

"Your bossy." He mumbled, hissing as I felt along his ribs.

"Doesn't feel like anything has moved. How's your breathing?" I asked, gently placing my palms on either side of his neck, nudging his chin up so I could get a clear view.

"Throat is still tight, but no worse than it was a few hours ago." He reported, resting his shaggy head back against the wall, reluctantly submitting to my clinical inspection.

My rage was ignited at the sight of the black-finger-shaped bruises that wrapped around my little brother's throat.

"When I get my hands on Darrell, I'm going to make him wish he had never been born. I am going to slaughter that sonuvabitch." I seethed, as I gently traced one of the violent markings with my thumb.

"Okay, calm down, Riggs." Sam quipped, referencing one of our favorite movies.

I calmed a little at his joking remark, pulling my hands a ay and watching as his head levelled and he returned my gaze, one of his dimples appearing as he smirked.

"I'm more like McClane." I returned, swallowing back the rage, burying it back down inside me, saving it up to release the next time Darrell was in arm's reach.

"Nah, you're Riggs all the way."

"You realize that makes you Murtaugh?"

Sam shrugged, as best he could with only one good shoulder.

"I'm good with that."

I snorted, but didn't have the heart to continue with the joke, as I sat back and stared at my little brother. The kid was a wreck. He was beat to hell. His breath was coming and going in small whistles of air. His entire frame was shaking. He had his left arm clutched around his chest in an effort to keep his fucked-up shoulder stable.

"Here." I whispered, reaching across the floor and swiping up my discarded leather jacket.

Sam rolled his eyes, but obediently leaned forward – wincing as he performed the simple action – and allowed me to wrap the coat around his back. He eagerly slid his right arm through the sleeve and waited patiently as I tucked his left hand into the right armhole, effectively supporting his injured shoulder.

Once the process was complete, Sam sat back and released a whistled sigh.

I hadn't realize how much concern was lining my face, until the younger man spoke up.

"I'm alright, Dean."

The attempt at reassurance fell on deaf ears, because my eyes could clearly spot the truth.

"Okay, so I'm in pain. My muscles ache, my knee throbs, and my stomach won't stop grumbling; but other than my busted shoulder and my ribs, there's nothing internal going on. My chest is killing me, but my lungs are okay, and there's no bleeding under my skin." Sam insisted in a winded explanation.

"We don't know that." I frowned, fear building in my chest. It was a familiar fear, one I had felt every other damn time my kid's life had been at risk. Which was way too many bloody times.

"I do. We've both been hurt enough to know when something is going wrong inside. This is not one of those times."

And wasn't that just a punch to the gut. My little brother should not know how it felt to bleed internally or have something wrong with your organs. But he did. We both did.

I nodded, accepting the words, even though it did very little to stomp down the fear growing inside of me.

"How are you?" Sam questioned, his raspy voice full of concern as his big hazel eyes glanced between me and my right hip.

"I'm fine." I dismissed. It was the truth, mostly. My side was throbbing and if I moved the wrong way, it felt like it was on fire, but it wasn't bleeding much anymore, the shirt tied around it was practically dry. My body was soar, bruises making themselves known, and I had a headache that wouldn't go away. But it was nothing I couldn't handle.

All things considered, I was fine.

"Let me see."

I relented, because some things never changed. My brother could be like a dog with a bone and if I didn't just give the kid what he wanted, he would never stop pestering me.

I raised my shirt, and pulled back the make-shift bandage, allowing Sam a glimpse at the wound, his long fingers sweeping over the area.

"It's still seeping." He reported with a frown.

"Barely." I dismissed with a shrug, allowing my shirt to fall back into place.

"It'll be a miracle if that doesn't get infected." Sam added miserably.

I shrugged again, because he wasn't lying. The cellar was filthy, and filth and bullet wounds were a perfect recipe for infection; but I didn't have time to worry about that, as my brother breathed in a sharp inhale and his long body tensed.

"You okay?" I asked, as his face twitched in growing discomfort.

"Yeah." He rasped, as he relaxed back against the wall again.

"You sure?" I double-checked, my eyes sweeping over the kid.

"Yeah. Just a twitch."

"Good." I said with a nod, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Now do you want to tell me exactly what the fuck you were thinking?"

Sam's eyes widened, at either my furious tone or the escalated volume of my voice.

"When I fell asleep you were right beside me, and then I wake up and you've fucking vanished." I snapped, the helplessness I had felt, manifesting itself in anger – an emotion I very much preferred.

"Did you think that I had abandoned you?" Sam whispered, sounding equally parts hurt and guilty.

"I wished that you had. But I knew that you didn't." I responded honestly, knowing that Darrell Fenton's filthy lies were sill swirling around in my kid's brain.

Sam lost a little of his kicked-puppy look.

"What I didn't know was where the fuck you went, or if you took off willingly. For all I knew one of those scumbags nabbed you."

"Oh please, like they could get in here without waking you."

"You got out just fine."

Sam shrugged.

"I've got more experience moving around without rousing my over-protective big brother. Besides, I'm not a threat, so you didn't need to wake-up swinging." Sam explained, quirking an amused grin.

"Not a threat to me, but you seem to be one to yourself. What the hell were you thinking going walking around upstairs? You got some sort of death wish I should know about?"

"I had a plan." Sam defended.

"Oh really? Did it involve not telling your brother what the fuck was going on, locking me in the damn cell, and then marching around upstairs, only to get caught and have our one damn advantage taken away. That key was our only hope of getting out of this shithole."

Sam sat patiently through my tirade, giving me a look of mild amusement until I finished.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you would try and stop me—

"Damn right, I would."

"And I locked the cage because I didn't want you trying to come after me."

I pointed down irritably at the shackle locked around my ankle.

"Exactly, if you tried to come after me you could have done permanent damage. Also, in case any of the Fentons wanted to get to you, they couldn't, because it was locked and I had the key."

"Yeah, you _had_ it." I pointed out, frustrated that Sam's only method of escape had been taken away, because the moron had decided to go for a stroll.

"And I went upstairs to find the key for you chains. I looked around down here first to see if there was something that would be able to break through them, but I didn't have any luck. So I had to go upstairs to find the key."

"Which worked wonderfully." I commented sarcastically.

"It didn't go as planned, but it still worked."

I squinted down at the younger man seated on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. I watched as he leaned to one side and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small container.

My mouth nearly dropped open as Sam tossed the object onto the floor in front of my feet.

My lock pick set.

"How long were you planning on hiding that?" I questioned, a surprised smile pulling at my lips.

Sam grinned up at me, his eyes peaking out at me from underneath the fringe of his bangs.

"I was waiting until you were finished with your lecture." He quipped.

I huffed, taking a seat beside my little brother and grabbing on to the small tin, flipping it open and pulling out the materials I needed.

"You grabbed this while you were upstairs?"

"Yeah, it was on the table, probably just got tossed there from after they emptied our pockets. I wanted to grab one of our cells too, but I couldn't find them. I wasn't up there long enough to really look either, Darrell is a pretty light sleeper for such a big dude."

"He seemed pretty drunk too."

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, there were bottles all over the place, it smelt like a bar up there. I really hoped they were all passed out, but I barely had time to get a good look around before Darrell came out of nowhere."

I grunted as I twisted the tools into the lock around my ankle.

"You shouldn't have done that, Sam. It was way too big of a risk."

I didn't have to look up from my efforts to know that Sam was rolling his eyes. I could sense my little brother's attitude from miles away.

Long cold fingers swatted at mine.

"Give those to me." Sam said, his palm out.

"Nah, dude, I got it." I dismissed, not missing how the large hands trembled.

"Just give them." Sam demanded, snatching the tools from my fingers and gently tugging my ankle closer to where he was seated.

I huffed, but didn't fight the kid, stretching my leg out toward him, keeping it still and allowing him to do his work.

"You know I've always been better at this." He mumbled, as he expertly slid the picks into the small hole.

"I figured maybe you got rusty."

Sam looked up long enough to flick his hair from his eyes and send me an unamused glare.

"A few months at school doesn't eradicate a life's worth of training." He mumbled.

I smirked, always loving it when Sam pulled out those ten-dollar words. The kid was going to make a damn good lawyer.

Just like that, the lock clicked and the shackle popped open.

"Well your lock pick skills are clearly still up to par." I praised, reaching to rid of the metal on my leg.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sam ordered, smacking my hands.

"Dude, enough with that." I whined, pulling my fingers back and away from the abuse. That was like the third time that kid had smacked at me.

"You're fine." Sam sighed dismissively. "Just let me take it off."

"Well, hurry it up already."

Sam made no response, as he cautiously, and very slowly, removed the shackle from around my ankle.

I hissed as the metal was pulled away from the damaged skin beneath it.

Sam tossed the blood-smeared chunk of hardware across the cell, a flash of anger coming through, before he placed his attention back on my newly-freed joint, his fingers trailing the marred skin.

"Shit, that's probably going to scar. I told you to stop pulling on it so hard."

I shrugged, attempting to pull my leg away, but stopping as Sam refused to relinquish his hold of my foot.

"Is it as painful as it looks?"

"I'm fine, Sam. We need to focus on getting the hell out of here, while we can." I reminded the younger man, pulling my leg away and climbing to my feet.

"We're going now?"

"Yes, now. I'm not giving them another chance to get their hands on you, Sammy. It's not fucking happening."

The look of pure unadulterated hero-worship I received from my kid, was not one that I deserved in the least, and I fond myself looking away, unable to accept the adoration I was so incredibly unworthy of.

"You stay here, while I get the gate unlocked."

"I'd be faster."

"Probably, but you just keep your ass on that floor until we are ready to get out of here. I don't want you moving until you have to."

"So bossy." Sam mumbled, but I knew it was just for show, as I watched him relax back against the wall and close his eyes.

It was only then that I allowed the fear I was feeling to show on my face, only for a moment before I schooled my features. I was so worried about Sam, about how I was going to get him to safety without causing him additional injury or pain.

But I would do it. I would find a way. I would carry the sasquatch if I had to.

"You sure you don't want my help?" Sam inquired, cracking his eyes open and looking over at me.

"Nah, I'm all good, now that I'm not on a leash."

My little brother's expression clouded over, a rare flash of rage flitting across his battered face.

I shook my head, on occasion I forgot that Sam was capable of a frightening anger. Frustration was not uncommon for him, or aggravation, especially when it came to his relationship with our father. But ire was rare for the younger man. Perhaps, Sam had a little bit of me in him, after all. I quirked a smile at the thought and returned my attention to the task at hand, having to stick my hands awkwardly through the bars in an effort to pick the lock.

"Get it yet?"

"No, Sam. I'm not a freakin contortionist." I grumbled.

Sam chuckled softly, and though the sound was wispier than I would have liked it, it still warmed my heart. I absently wondered if there would ever come a day where the sound of my kid brother's laughter didn't make me feel all gooey inside.

My face felt as though it was imprinted by the bars of the cage, by the time the lock clicked and the gate finally opened.

"Alright, little brother. Let's get the hell out of here." I urged, as I rushed back over to the long body seated on the ground, pocketing the lock-pick set as I went.

Sam had his good arm outstretched, his hand latching on to my forearm as mine gripped his, and I pulled him up to his feet. To his credit, Sam didn't make a sound, but the agony he was experiencing was clearly depicted all over his expression.

"I got you, Sammy. Slow and steady." I encouraged, pulling his long right arm over my shoulders as we made our way to the far side of the cellar. My eyes scanned the wall of hunting weapons, searching for something small I could pocket. Most of the weapons decorating the walls were far too large for me to handle, I needed my hands free in case I had to carry the injured man shuffling by my side. I snagged a dagger and slid it through my beltloop.

"There's a shotgun over there." Sam nodded to the left of the window. "I saw it when I was fighting with Darrell, but I couldn't get to it. Not sure how many rounds it'll have in it – if any, but you should grab it."

I flicked my gaze toward the indicated direction, spotting the firearm mounted on the wall.

"Go get it, Dean. I'll be fine." I didn't know if Sam meant he would be fine standing by the window, or if he was reading my mind again and assuring me that he would be fine to walk the distance, leaving my hands free to wield the weaponry. Either way, I made sure Sam was steady on his feet, before moving to grab the shotgun. I looked over the twelve-gauge, noting the six shells it held, as I rushed back to the young man leaning heavily against the wall.

"They might hear the window break." Sam warned softly, as he watched me hold up the butt of the gun.

"Small window at the back of the house, I'll try and keep it quiet, but it shouldn't make too much noise." I had broken enough windows to know how much force to apply to keep the smash to a minimum. Just like I had intended, the break was relatively silent, as I hit the corner of the window and then dragged the shotgun across the edges to quietly rid of all the remaining shards.

"Alright, dude. I'm going to help you up—

"No, I'll help you—

"Sam, it's going to be a lot easier for me to _push_ you up, than try and _pull_ your gigantic body through the space. I need you to just follow my lead on this, alright? We don't have time to debate everything."

The taller man bit his lip, but resigned himself to my request as he reached up to grab the windowsill with his good arm, keeping the left one tucked inside the jacket. I bent down in front of him, locking my hands together and waiting for his foot to settle on top of them, before forcing it up.

Sam groaned as he dragged himself through the small hole, his body tense – in what I knew had to be excruciating pain – as he army crawled forward, on his busted ribs, until his feet were clear of the window. Once he was through, I tossed the firearm through the gap.

I reached up, wishing for my brother's vertical advantage, as I gripped the windowsill, struggling to pull myself up by my fingers.

"Hand." Sam demanded breathlessly, as he appeared in the gap with his palm reached out for me.

I hesitated, seeing the agony on the sweaty face looking down at me.

"Now." He ground out.

I didn't want to cause my brother anymore pain, but time was of the essence, so one of my hands grabbed onto his. I tried to help by climbing as Sam's unyielding grip pulled me up and out through the window.

I wasted no time getting to my feet, and pulling the longer, thinner, frame up with me. I scanned our surroundings, taking in the dirt path and the trees, which were all around us. The truck that had brought us here was gone, forcing us to travel on foot. I had no idea where we were or what was in the surrounding areas, or where the next clearing was, but I knew that we didn't have time to stand there and sort out the best direction to take. There was a chance the Fentons had heard something, a chance that they would come running out of the house shooting at any moment, or that whoever had gone out in the truck, would return at any moment; which also meant that following the road wasn't an option either.

I grabbed the shotgun up with one hand, and wrapped my arm around my brother's waist with another, feeling his bony right arm settler over my shoulders as we started to move. My instincts were telling me to run, to book it as far and as fast as possible, but I knew that wasn't an option, Sam's body couldn't handle it. The kid was plagued with injuries, and our slow jog was enough to have him gasping and whimpering in pain.

We maintained a jog for what most have been at least a couple hours, until we were far deeper into the woods, until I was sure that there were no Fenton men close behind us, until I could feel fresh blood from my bullet wound soaking the waistband of my jeans, and until Sam pleaded for an end.

"Stop. Dean. Please. I can't."

I immediately slowed my pace at the request. It was rare – if ever—that Sam declared that he couldn't do something, and I knew that him saying such a thing was a red flag.

"What's up? What's wrong?" I asked, unable to keep the urgency from my tone as we came to a stop.

Sam was lulled forward, his right arm gripping tight around my shoulder as he nearly collapsed into me. He was fighting to stay on his feet, as his head dropped against my chest.

"Can't- can't breathe. Please. Need to rest. Just a minute."

The kid's inhalations had gone from bad to worse, as he wheezed in a painful sounding breath. His exhale just as ragged, as it whistled through the stillness of the night.

"Sure thing, buddy. Come here."

I kept a firm grip on the skinny body that was trembling violently, as I held it up against my own and lead us to a small hollow that appeared to be created by the roots of several trees. The space was just tall enough to allow Sam to sit under the shelter of the roots, while resting his back up against the side of the earthy cavern. It was cold and dirty, but the cave formed by the tree roots would at least provide some shelter.

I squatted down in front of my little brother, placing my hand on his chest and swiping the long hair off his forehead so I could find his eyes and acquire his focus. His hand found the amulet dangling from my neck, at the same moment that his gaze met mine.

"Slow breaths, Sammy. Slow and as deep as you can." I instructed, knowing that the kid's oxygen-deprived body was telling him an entirely different story.

True to from, Sam ignored his body's demands, but he followed my instruction. I could see the hazel gaze reflecting the moonlight as it stared steadily at me.

"That's my boy." I praised after a few moments, relieved as hell when the younger man's wheezing breaths leveled out and began to sound much less desperate.

"We can keep going." Sam rasped, his hand still clenching the charm resting on my chest.

"It's okay. Let's just take a break."

"I can do it." He stated.

Gawd, I fucking loved my strong little brother.

"I know, kiddo. But you don't have to. Not right now. It's still late, and there hasn't been any sign of them yet, so they probably won't even notice we are gone until morning. We're okay to rest here for a few minutes." I assured.

"Y'sure?" Sam slurred, his eyes focussed, even though I knew his body was crashing under the pain of injury and the exertion of the escape.

But even though Sam's body was demanding rest, I knew that if I had said I needed the kid to get up and go with me, he would have done it. He would have forced his limbs to cooperate, and swallowed down the agony, if I had asked him to do so.

Because that was what my little brother did.

Whatever I demanded of him, he gave.

Whenever I needed him, he pulled through, no matter what the cost was to himself.

He had been that way from the beginning, always giving me everything and anything that he had.

Darrell and those other Fenton assholes had it all wrong.

Hell, even John had it wrong.

Because Sam had never been selfish, not for one goddamn day in his life.

He was always willing to give more, even when he had nothing left.

He sacrificed everything, even when it wasn't expected of requested of him.

He risked everything, his life, to protect me.

Sam was the only person on the planet who had never let me down.

The only one I could ever truly depend on.

The only one who was _always_ there for me.

How dare any one every label him as selfish, or a traitor, or anything but a fucking hero.

Because that was what he was.

A hero.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm sure." I whispered, allowing my kid some time to breathe, and silently promising to get him to keep him safe.

He nodded, maintaining his hold of the amulet as he looked at me, his wide hazel eyes full of trust and love.

Because Sammy was my hero, and for some astounding reason, I was his.

And I wanted to be more for him.

I would do whatever it took to be the one person he could depend on.

To earn that look of adoration that he was always giving me.

To be deserving of the trust my little brother placed in me.

To be worthy of my kid's unconditional love.

Because it had sustained me for my entire life.

* * *

Note: I hope you liked it! The next chapter will be a tad more exciting, but this still had quite a bit going on! I would love to know your thoughts and opinions, if you have a spare moment to comment. Thanks for reading! And sorry for the wait! - Sam


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